


Altered

by PhantomWriter



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU-ception, F/M, M/M, Post-Hobbit, Pre-Lord of The Rings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10090310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: The ring tempts Bilbo not by offering power and greatness.But the choice of living in any of the three altered worlds where all has a very much alive Thorin Oakenshield.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit, The Lord of The Rings (both movies and book series), and the characters mentioned. They belong to their rightful owner. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

It was thrumming again.

Bilbo felt for the ring faintly, his hand very familiar with the touching of his waistcoat pocket to ensure the gold band was still inside. He never wore it again since returning to Bag End for he finds no reason to. Perhaps playing with some fauntlings with the invisibility magic would raise some questions around, and he would rather not explain to the little ones how he got the ability in the first place.

The ring, though, seemed antsy for being idle.

Some nights, he would wake up to faint hissing of an incomprehensive voice that he didn’t recall ever hearing before he set out on the journey. Or when he forgot to remove the ring from his pocket, it would rouse him from sleep by vibrating. He would hold it then, flat on his palm, and would feel it warm like it was worn for too long not a moment ago. 

Bilbo refused to believe the ring being sentient, but now that he was in possession of it for a while, he thought it probably _is_.

Tonight was no different.

He sat up from the bed, sighing, and debating whether or not to indulge the rather demanding ring. It pulsed as if calling for him, wanting to be slipped on his finger, and on times like this, Bilbo would regret keeping it. Perhaps Gandalf was right on his advice not to play with a magic ring lightly. If only he knew such a small object would keep him up late and could compromise his rest, he would have hid it with the things he brought back from the journey where they are tucked away in a small chest he hardly opened.   

Not that there were no other reasons he couldn’t sleep properly. Whenever he was safely tucked under the covers, he would be haunted by grief and his mind would be flooded of what-ifs he couldn’t avoid.

Especially in regards to Thor—

Bilbo shook his head. _No_ , he promised. _Not tonight._

At the thought of _him_ , the ring seemed to respond, more insistent to be worn than before.

As if it knew what was on his mind.

Despite being warm, it was cold when it settled on his finger. The surrounding was painted with gray and the small room seemingly much darker that it was originally during evenings. Noises were muffled, and the atmosphere stuffed. Bilbo had forgotten how it felt like whenever he used the ring. There was again an adjustment against the slightly heavier air, almost suffocating him.

As everything was in muted in color, the ring was of different matter. It was glowing in golden light.

**“Bilbo Baggins.”**

Bilbo looked around for the source of the hissing voice. Identical to the one he heard occasionally. There was no one. “Where?”   

There was a dark chuckle that followed.

The hobbit’s senses were already screaming for him to _get out_ , but he remained firmly at his bed, not even compelled to remove the ring. “Where are you?”

**“It matters not,” the voice said. “Only those who have unattainable desires in them could hear me.”**

Bilbo almost scoffed at that. Hobbits pride themselves in living a simple life at The Shire, satisfied with their peaceful and sufficient life in the comforts of their homes. His folks never sought out anything that wasn’t found at Shire. “I don’t have that,” he replied, a bit adamant.

**“And yet you can hear me.”**

He wanted to look way (he decided not to for the voice seems to be everywhere). He closed his eyes. “Alright. You have a point. It still doesn’t explain why you’re here. If you’re a being inside this ring that I happened to found before, and angry at me for stealing you away from that… that creature, you could instruct me for your return. But please, not back to the Goblin tunnel, if you may.” Bilbo, the ever polite, added, “And thank you for being helpful in a number of times.”

**“On the contrary, I do not seek to be returned to the previous bearer. Not when I could have more use to you, wouldn’t you say?” the voice said. “You have great wants, and wishes to have them. And you can, through me.”**

“I don’t think I know what you say,” Bilbo pressed in denial. “You were quite insistent and it’s like you want me to wear you. I’m not sure, but that’s how I interpret your constant ringing. And so what I’d like to believe why I’m here.”

**“Oh, Bilbo,” the voice uttered his name in a tone Bilbo didn’t like, mocking and resembling a spat. “Too simple a creature, to a fault even. You have no idea how much power you wield and the amount of potential for greatness you are missing.”**

Bilbo resolved himself to not allow the conversation to continue further. “No, I don’t have any idea, and I don’t want to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir.”

 **“Of course, it’s not greatness you wanted, not of that sort, no,” the voice said. “A sort of… a reality, is it not? A different one, a good _ending_ , like on the fiction mortals like to craft and write on books. Where they immerse themselves in an imagined scenario where events went how they want it. An escape for the harsh reality they presently have. Like those you fondly read, Bilbo, when you’re comfortably nested on your armchair. And at night, in the shelter of your warm covers and the silence of the dark, you long for a person you couldn’t have and the future you couldn’t possibly attain with him anymore. You played out different situations in your head, where everything went differently, had only you changed one action. Isn’t that what you desire the most? To live in a world where you and the glorious King Under the Mountain—” ** 

“ _Stop_ ,” Bilbo gritted, clenching and unclenching his fists. He wasn’t as easily angry as this, but having his heart laid out to him and being ridiculed, he couldn’t help himself. “Why are you doing this?

“I’m… I’m foolish, I know. But that is all I will ever have of him and nothing else. The memories I have of him alone are just,” he exhaled, feeling angrier at the wetness of his eyes. “J-just _that_. And you have no need to throw that at my face for I’m well aware.”

He truly regretted now ever taking the damned ring. He should have left it there with its previous owner, never to see the world outside again and affect the one who would be in possession of it.

For Bilbo knew himself to be of weak heart.  

He moved to remove the ring but stopped when it spoke to him again.

**“Poor hobbit of mine,” the voice spoke with great deal of gentleness, should Bilbo strained his ears he would hear the amused locution. “If that is what you wish, you need only ask and I shall grant them.”**

Bilbo looked up sharply, hand stopping from slipping off the ring.

**“Wouldn’t you like that? A chance to live in a different world?” the voice persuaded.**

The hobbit hesitated; wasn’t it a bad idea to agree easily with an unknown voice with no face? One who tempts of the impossible with that ominous voice?  He never heard of such ending in a good way.

**“I’ll give you three chances, for, Bilbo, you deserve as much. Not less.”**

It must have noticed his hesitation, upping the bars of its offer. Desperate, one might think. But between the two of them, Bilbo thought he fitted the title more.

He waited for the catch to be mentioned (there must be one, right?)—asking for his body and soul to be bargained in exchange was one of the things he had in mind—but no, the voice remained silent, patiently waiting for him to contemplate his answer.

“Who are you?” he asked instead.

Bilbo was sure that if the voice had a physical form, it would smile at him, taking his question as an affirmation.

**“Annatar is what I am known—the Lord of Gifts. And this is the gift I give to you, Bilbo Baggins.”**

Shadow spilled throughout Bilbo’s room, creeping towards him, enclosing him in the dark and nothingness. Bilbo’s eyes widened. Alarmed, he instinctively covered his eyes with his crossed arms, all the while thinking he made the wrong decision after all.

And then everything faded to black.

* * *

When he came to his senses, he was seated in a font of a circular table. It was low enough just below his chest, made of polished teak. It looks sturdy and most likely of Dwarven quality.

Wait.

Bilbo sat up, wincing a little as he bumped the table in the process that the papers on top clattered slightly. A thud by the fallen pen he hadn’t caught on time made Balin turn his way suddenly.

 _Balin_. It was him, the very same Balin of the company. The same white beard he sported was as abundant as ever, and his thick brows that matched the shade of his beard, paired with those wise, knowing eyes.  He smiled warmly to Bilbo, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re awake, I see. I do not have the heart to wake you up. The others are to come around yet anyway. Would you like some tea?”

It took Bilbo a while to register the offer of tea, taking the situation for a moment. “Please. Thank you.” He noted that he was currently in an office of some sort. It was spacious enough to accommodate the others who are yet to arrive. The walls are lined with shelves of books and on one corner settled a desk where a stack of paperwork was neatly arranged. In another corner was a smaller table where Balin was preparing two cups of tea and a serving of scones.

No doubt he was currently in Balin’s office. And that could only mean one thing.

He approached the only window opened, and hitched a deep breath.

It was a view from the Lonely Mountain, overlooking the foot of it and the far beyond until the banks of the lake. There was a city in between the mountain and the Long Lake. The very city Bilbo remembered being in ruins before. It was Dale.

“A pleasant view, isn’t it?” Balin commented beside Bilbo. “Although I’m sure not as spectacular as the one you have. I’m lucky enough to have one in my choosing as it is.” He smiled.

Bilbo was suddenly curious to know he has chambers of his own. In the castle, no less.

“Not all of us are spoiled by the King.” The old dwarf threw Bilbo a wink.  He turned his sight towards the Dale. “It’s nice to see the city restored. Though Bard should have seen them before his passing, he deserved the honor of being the leader of the new Dale.” Balin’s smile went sad. “If only we’ve been hastier in convincing our King to quicken the aid we could provide.”

Bilbo pieced out the bits of information he could get. If the Dragonslayer had passed of old age, and with the Dale restored as well, several years must have gone by. Not to mention the Kingdom of Erebor seems to be in its glory once again.

_I’m in the future. In this world, at least._

“Is… Is Thorin the King of Erebor?” Bilbo blurted all of a sudden, half scolding himself for the seemingly stupid question, and half dreading the answer. 

Balin’s mood seemed to have lifted at this. “A smooth change of topic, Master Baggins,” the dwarf said lightly. “Though I prefer not in the way you’d look like a ditzy hobbit, as much as we know you are never one.” He was amused, and Bilbo was glad to ease the atmosphere at least. “But to answer your question, yes. Thorin Oakenshield has been our king since we reclaimed Erebor,” he said as if lecturing a little child studying a history lesson. “With Fili named as his successor, and Kili the next in line should Fili refuse the crown—not unless King Thorin decided to enter a union and have an heir directly from him.”

Blibo was ecstatic. Not only is Thorin alive in this world but also his nephews. And Thorin being the king, with FIli and Kili having the right to the throne as well. The hobbit couldn’t suppress the relieved smile he gave Balin.

The dwarf looked momentarily puzzled by his expression. “Did you somehow hit your head on the way here that you had forgotten about them?” Balin gasped a bit. “Do you still remember me, Master Burglar?”

The hobbit turned away sheepishly. It has been a while since he heard that title. “Perhaps,” he replied noncommittally. “But yes, I remember you too well, Master Balin.”

“But you don’t seem to remember me telling you I prefer to be called Balin only,” Balin shot back good-naturedly. “Your position is a level higher than mine after all.”

Bilbo frowned at that. He would ask for Balin to elaborate but afraid he might push the “joke” a little too far. He would find it out later anyhow.

The dwarf gestured for the prepared tea, saying it had gotten slightly cold with their silly conversation. He walked around his office, contemplating on something with his hands on his back. He was silent as he paced, giving Bilbo time to finish the scones. Bilbo figured Balin to be Thorin’s— _King_ Thorin’s—royal adviser. It was no surprise on Bilbo’s part, as Balin appeared to be the most diplomatic and knowledgeable of the company. And the most sensible, if he might add. 

“Sometimes I wonder that too,” Balin began. Bilbo placed down the empty teacup and listened attentively. “If it’s really our Thorin who is currently sitting there on the throne.”

Bilbo frowned, opening his mouth to inquire. It was when Dwalin entered the room abruptly without as much as a knock.

“Balin, we need you at the throne room,” Dwalin said with barely masked fury. When an equally shocked Balin refused to move, Dwalin spoke again. “You better reason with that mad king right this moment or I will make sure he will not get out of that throne of his alive.”

Bilbo’s blood ran cold. Surely, he hadn’t heard that from Dwalin. Not from him, Thorin’s most loyal among his loyal companions. His eyes met Dwalin’s and there was an unspeakable spark of added anger there when he recognized who Balin was with. The bald dwarf harshly turned away, not acknowledging the hobbit entirely.

Balin, who had seen the exchange, sent Bilbo an apologetic look and silently begged for him to follow them.

_What exactly is happening here?_

* * *

Erebor, restored in its full glory, was brighter that he had seen last—pale gold of lights lit high in rows, not illuminating every parts, but nowhere near dim for a caved area. He remembered the air stank of the dragon’s odor, ruined pillars and stone staircases. He remembered the glint of gold before that served as the primary source of light. He realized that _this_ was the very same hall the company prized the most, the place they called home long before Smaug came upon them. The hall where he faced the dragon and all its might. Where he found the Arkenstone, and where he began to recognize the growing madness within Thorin.

It was like seeing everything for the first time.

Had Bilbo been clueless, he would say he was brought to a destined time of years later. Only that it was a different kind of reality where had been and witnessed beforehand. The reality that made him wish for the one he was currently in.

He matched the hurried steps of the brothers as they approached the throne. And high up the king’s seat was Thorin. The difference was striking, but Bilbo found himself to be distracted by other than Thorin’s appearance.

The king was seething in rage.

“Traitors, the both of you!” Thorin bellowed from high up, his voice sending shivers to those below him. “And right under my nose, no less,” the king hissed.

Balin paled when he found out who were being accused. “Kili,” Balin exhaled, unbelieving. “And our young Ori too.”

From his position, Bilbo could make out a taller Kili and of longer beard than the one he knew before. Age already defined the Kili standing now before the king. Ori was still of small eyes and meek disposition, but his now longer hair and beard adorned with more braids and beads.

“Your Highness,” Balin began, rushing to meet Thorin’s line of vision, as if shielding the two from him. “We have just arrived and perhaps it would do well to us all to see to the matter clearly. As to what grounds do they deserve to be called as such?”

“If only you had gone here as fast as you can, you would not be ignorant as to why,” Thorin replied coldly, his eyes barely spared Balin a glance when he bowed lower in apology. “It came to my awareness that letters unknown to me have been going from here to that accursed forest of Mirkwood, and then back again.” He turned sharply to Kili. “You,” he spat. “I’ve warned you before never to interact again with those dishonorable elves. In case you’ve forgotten what good that bastard of a race had done to us.” Ori, poor Ori, had tried not to squeak in fright when he was addressed. “And you even encouraged this by being their runner. You dare lie to me even of traveling to Dale every now and then under the pretense of scholarly duties when it was obviously not even that.” The king towered, advancing dangerously. “You dare lie to me! To your king! Have you no shame?”

“Uncle!” Kili snapped. “Leave Ori out of this. He is innocent—”

“Innocent! Ha! Do you hear yourself? And you don’t address me again as such for I’m your King first.”

Bilbo could notice Kili’s jaw hardening. “Apologies, _My King,_ ” Kili gritted out in growing anger. “And as I said, Ori is to be left out of this matter. What he had done was out of goodwill for me.”

“And why would I leave him out?” Thorin asked incredulously. “When it is highly likely he was mediating in a suspicious correspondence. I say I punish him for treason.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened at the same time Balin gasped. Dwalin, if it was anymore possible, was more furious than when he had fetched his brother. He was shaking. Bilbo feared if Dwalin would indeed do what he said earlier.

“You Highness, let’s not be hasty,” Balin appealed as calmly as he could. “We don’t know as of yet if the content of these letters are treacherous in nature.”

If not for Balin’s statement, somehow, Bilbo believed that in a few moments the guards would have picked up Ori already. Shock had stopped Bilbo from forming any kind of protest of his own, and in this situation, he doubted he could make it any better. He wondered if Thorin would even listen to him.

Now that their great distance apart wasn’t only in physical proximity.

_But, damn it. I should do something for them. It’s Kili and Ori for Valar’s sake!_

Thorin scoffed. “Must we still waste our time finding the letters that were most likely disposed of already? They’re not idiots. Especially that damned Elvenking. As if he would let his elfling spy keep incriminating evidences on the other end.”

 _Oh, Thorin,_ Bilbo lamented inwardly. The king was labeling Tauriel of a spy of the Elvenking, who Thorin hated the most in the whole Middle-Earth after he had disposed of Azog—it was ridiculous.

“Tauriel is no spy of anybody,” Kili stated, firm on his stand. “She is a lover of mine, and I hers. Chaste meetings and this exchanging of letters are all we have, My King.” Under the steady voice was melancholy. Bilbo thought that Thorin could be the sole reason as well as to why the couple only had their limited encounters. He couldn’t believe that Thorin would be this callous to his nephew.

_Because he’s not the Thorin I know. Thorin would never forsake Kili’s happiness over some bad blood with the elves._

_No, it’s him, of course. The resemblance is uncanny. I’m simply adjusting to this side of him._

_No, this couldn’t be him! I…_

“Love?” Thorin uttered the word like a curse. “You think it love? For all you know, she might have ensnared you with trickery to make you feel that way. Aren’t they known for that? Did she seduce you?”

Kili’s shoulders were shaking. “Tauriel is not that low.”

“I beg to differ as every elf is low,” Thorin pointed. “Tell me, had she persuaded you to give trinkets from my treasury as a gift? Did she demand before of jewels of pure white? Of pieces of gold and diam—”

“Enough!” Kili snarled, his voice echoing that made the hall deafening afterwards. “You can insult me, but not her! You don’t even know her beyond her being an elf.” Bilbo gulped when Kili stepped forward to the king. “And in the end, it’s not about anything but your gold and riches! Those darned, shiny coins that made you worse and worse of a dwarf every passing day.” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief and disappointment. “No, you are no king of mine. You’re not a king of any but that shit pile of gold!”

Thorin’s eyes darkened and looked as if he would kill his own nephew with his bare hands. Kili remained where he stood, determined to meet him head-on, both giving each other the most scalding of glares they could muster.

Surprisingly, Thorin leaned back. He calmly began, “Very well. It is now clear as to where your loyalty lies.” He stood straighter, addressing everybody present.

“Kili, son of Vili, I sentence you to death for the crime of treason. And Ori, the scribe, is given the same sentence for being accessory to the crime,” the king declared with finality.

They all held their breath.

Kili’s burning anger went away instantly, replaced by resignation once his shoulders slacked in defeat.

Bilbo would have none of that.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called when the Thorin turned his back on them. He went beside Balin in front of the king. “This is…” _madness_. “This is unreasonable of you! You don’t go punish them because of baseless accusations.” The hobbit wasn’t quite sure where he got his bravery. Just a few while ago, he was quite unsure of his position to speak his mind. But now there was a spark of something akin to confidence.

Maybe it was the thought of Ori, the youngest of the company then. The one who fought violence only with his trusty slingshot. He seemed the gentlest, contented to join the journey as the scribe, jotting down at his journal with the light of every campfire they lit throughout their travel. 

Or perhaps it was the way Kili seemed suddenly tired of fighting his uncle who turned blind to everything that wasn’t glittering. The charming lad Bilbo knew was exhausted of hiding his relationship with the elf simply because Thorin forbid it. Kili may have lived in this version of reality, but if this would be his future, death not by orcs, instead by ruthlessness of kin…

Bilbo wouldn’t allow it. He was expecting the worse, being thrown in the dungeons for speaking up against the king’s decision, but it might as well be it rather than not doing anything at all. 

“What happened to you, King Under the Mountain? That you’re unwilling to give them even a fair trial?” Bilbo pleaded in a softer voice, “You’re not like this.”

Something shifted in Thorin’s eyes when he registered Bilbo’s words. The king’s gaze was heavy upon him, judging, perhaps, Bilbo’s foolishness for opening his mouth. Bilbo held out, his chin tilting a little higher to show defiance. He was regarded for a long moment that the others showed hope for the right resolution.

“Very well,” Thorin rasped, finally. “Balin, have the council immediately investigate the matter,” he ordered. Balin immediately complied. Thorin hesitated. “In the meantime, they are to be kept in the cells.” He added, as if an afterthought, “Not withholding food and other basic needs.”

Balin hid his relieved sigh through the bow he gave. Dwalin seemed to have been lifted off of burden as Bilbo caught the look the former gave to Ori, who in turn nodded in assurance.

Bilbo let out a small breath he didn’t know he was holding. Though he would still wish to try for the two dwarves’ release from imprisonment. It still didn’t seem fair. And it felt like he could have done more than that.    

Though he reprimand himself for not doing enough, Kili and Ori both gave him grateful smiles, although short and small, before they were taken away. Nonetheless, it was nice to see a little bit of happiness and hope in them.

For Bilbo, they were enough.  

* * *

Bilbo wasn’t sure where to go then as he was still clueless where his quarters might be located. He decided to return to Balin’s office for the meantime. He hoped it wasn’t intrusive of him.

It wasn’t long when Balin came in; in tow were the rest of the company sans Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Ori. Nine dwarves spilled in the room, barely noticing Bilbo’s presence as they settled in any seat they could find in the room. Typical.

It was Balin who took notice of him first. “Lad,” he said gently, meeting Bilbo in a hug. “You have my thanks for standing up earlier.” His hands grasped the hobbit’s shoulders. “It’s a good thing you decided not to be silent this time. We,” he said, gesturing at the rest. “Appreciated what you did.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said. “I… well, anybody would have done the same, right?”

It must have been the wrong thing to say as Bilbo noted their shameful looks.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of bravery you have,” Bofur spoke. “We don’t have that kind of hold on Thorin. Not anymore.”

“Aye, since he became king,” Glóin said. “Perhaps as ealier since we went inside Erebor.”

Dwalin stood from the wall, face grim. “We thank you for minimizing their punishment.” His back went straight, ire still visible. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you simply delayed their impending doom. And it was worse that you gave them false hope for themselves only to have it crushed in the worst way possible.”

The truth slapped Bilbo. Of course, it wasn’t that he had remedied the problem already. It wasn’t even enough. He bit his cheek, remaining silent for he had nothing to say to that.

“Dwalin!” Dori chided. “In our king’s state it was even a miracle he changed his mind,” he reminded. “Couldn’t we at least not blame Bilbo? He doesn’t have a part in Thorin’s madness.”

“Directly, none. But for keeping his mouth shut almost all the time Thorin uttered nonsense, he might as well be blamed for letting Thorin do what he wishes.” He glared at the hobbit who was shrinking under it. “You’re the closest to him than we could ever get. You know he will listen to you. But what then? Your lack of protests was taken by him as agreement. I began to wonder what made today different!”  

“Hush, Dwalin,” Bifur said. “You’re making your anger talk for yourself.” He and Balin briefly glanced to the hobbit apologetically.

Nori stepped in. “We all are angry for my brother and Kili’s demise. And Mahal knew how much more Dori and I hated Thorin for it. But giving the weight of the blame to somebody who is equally as hurt as us is not the way we could solve this.”

It might be the siding to Bilbo of most of the dwarves present that made Dwalin enraged once again. He felt betrayed. “Aye, of course,” he started, sarcastic. “He didn’t even have his say when Thorin sent Fili away to Khazad-dûm.”  

Bilbo’s eyes widened in realization. He had been wondering for a while now where Fili could have been—where Kili was, Fili would be near. Bilbo expected Fili to fight for his younger brother adamantly should he had been there.

But, no, not that day. Thorin sent him away in that place he remembered he had been told of being infested with orcs. 

“Brother, please,” Balin said exasperatedly.

“No,” Bilbo muttered. “He’s right,” he said simply. “I have been quiet. I-I failed you. I should have been…” _not useless._ He breathed deeply, disappointed with himself. He had been silent then. Maybe too much to their liking that they could have also thought of him changed as well. “I could have done something.” He briefly closed his eyes in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Bilbo’s words hung heavy. Dwalin refused to acknowledge the apology but remained silent and unmoving as a stone.

“What now?” Bofur asked at once.

Glóin walked near Balin’s desk. “We are called here to discuss. In regards our king.”

Balin took it as his cue. “I have been looking for some loopholes in our law these months.”

“Loopholes for what?”

“Concerning the ruling of King Thorin.”

“And is there any?” Dori asked.

“Aye. Although it will be difficult.” Balin sighed. “The reigning king will be forced to pass on the throne to his heir should he declare himself incapable of ruling, physically or mentally. And I tell you it is very rare especially for a king a little passed only in his prime.”

“We have to make Thorin admit he’s mentally ill to continue his kingship,” Óin stated, a bit loudly than he intended. “It’s like—”

“—telling Smaug to go away and expect him to comply,” Bombur seconded, his round cheeks huffing.

“There goes our plan then,” Glóin grumbled glumly.

“What if he could be persuaded?” Bilbo asked, earning their attention.

“If he could be persuaded, aye. Remember that Lady Dís had done the same, and was subtly sent back to Ered Luin, as banishment.”

Risky, if Thorin wouldn’t even hear his own sister. “I will try still,” Bilbo announced firmly. “I might not succeed, but I know at least that I placed an effort in trying.”

The dwarves digested the situation. It was indeed remarked that it would be like asking for a dragon to sod off and never return. But here was a hobbit who faced a dragon himself and escaped its breath of flames. Surely, he could be successful in this feat?

“We do not wish to rely this heavily upon you,” Balin told him. “Nor you have any obligation to. If you succeed, however, you’d be doing us and the next generation a great favor. Should you find yourself in trouble, we’ll make sure to have your back, lad.”

“I know you all do,” Bilbo replied, smiling at them.

It was returned with gratefulness and concerned faces at the same time. Bilbo wished to lessen their worries until Dwalin suddenly spoken up, again with his grimness although with hardly any anger now.

“There is still a way for us to remove him as our king as he was done to be one in our hearts,” he told them ruefully. “We eliminate him.”

Balin gaped at his brother. “Dwalin, you don’t mean—”

“Aye,” the younger brother interrupted. “I do mean what I said.

“We assassinate the king.” 

* * *

Bilbo found himself wandering the hallways after the so-called meeting. It was a bit awkward, not quite sure which corner to turn inside the place where he was supposedly living for some time now. Add to that the random dwarves he encountered on his path who all sent him nods of acknowledgement, some even offering him curt greetings and address of “Master Baggins”. He promptly returned them with a bit of ease, must be because of hobbit’s nature to be friendly. In a way, it seemed familiar—like he had been doing it often, if not every day.

It would be better though if he actually knew where his room might be. He should have asked at least one of the dwarves who passed him by.

If he really did, would he be met with a blank stare? Or would he be considered mad himself?

Bilbo sniffed. Probably not a good idea.

Although he was still considering the thought to approach one for truly he was in need of the privacy of his own chamber, and the call to brood in isolation was overwhelming.

_“We assassinate the king.”_

He tried not to think back of that statement so lightly said. So lightly they were uttered that there was no amount of hesitation behind, simply the tone of an understatement as if it was the most natural thing to say. And the lack of protest that fallen afterwards gave him no comfort.

Like they were _considering_ the suggestion at all.

Truly Bilbo hoped he hadn’t heard that from a dwarf, a part of the company Thorin Oakenshield had no less. Thorin’s other family aside that of his blood.

 _Will this how the future will unfold then had Thorin lived and stayed out of his self?_ Bilbo mused sadly. _I do not like it._

A set of heavy footsteps came not a moment later, nearing Bilbo’s position as the sound became louder against the marbled floor.

The lone dwarf came to a stop when he noticed the hobbit. His serious face came to a halt and a grin broke out of the dwarf’s young face (Bilbo wasn’t really sure what was the difference with the old and the young of the race—shorter and lesser beard perhaps for the young). “Master Burglar!”

“Hello. A pleasant day.” Bilbo prayed his smile didn’t look forced. In his mind, he was trying to figure out the stranger but familiar-looking (if that was possible) lad of auburn hair with more dominant red.

 _Red_. Red hair like that of Glóin’s.

 _Oh. I recognize him in Glóin’s locket and the resemblance is uncanny, despite the lack of beard in the drawing._ He must say it was his first time meeting Glóin’s son in person. The dwarf’s _wee lad_ , as he fondly called him whenever he talked of his son around campfires.

“Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service,” the lad, Gimli, said with pride, and he bowed shortly.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours and your family’s.” Bilbo gestured at the end of the hall behind him, where he came from. “Are you looking for your father then?”    

Gimli nodded. “He is needed at the excavation site. A few had been in an accident after one of the scaffolds’ beams broke down. Thank Mahal nobody was injured gravely.” He paused, looking at Bilbo suddenly. “Apologies, Master Baggins. It wasn’t my intention to bring ill news during your rest.”

Bilbo was concerned, but shared Gimli’s relief nonetheless. “Thank goodness indeed.” His relief turned to amusement. “And on the contrary, I’m not resting. I don’t think I would be up for that either, when I clearly need one, yes?” He smiled ruefully. “After all that I heard,” he whispered. Gimli made no reaction if he even caught it. “As for your father, he should be at Balin’s office still. With the others.”

“Aye. I thank you, Master Baggins.”

“It’s Bilbo, if you may,” Bilbo said. “Your father is as much of a friend to me.”

“Alright then, Master Bilbo.” The hobbit raised a finger as if to correct him, but Gimli had beaten him to it with a chuckle. “I know, I know. It will take me a while though. Farewell, Master Bilbo. May you find the ease of your mind in these halls.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied sincerely. It was refreshing to encounter a new face. An earnest lad, this Gimli. Bilbo wished to see more of him around as somebody he could converse with. “And, oh, actually…” the hobbit shifted on his feet, somewhat sheepish. “Do you happen to know where, ah, my quarters might be?”

Gimli looked at him, and then let out a grunt. “Aren’t you lounging right outside it?” 

“Oh.”

* * *

His chamber was grander than the whole Bag End.

The furniture was of polished teak, coated with enamel that gave off a glistening surface. The ceiling was high, three hobbits tall if his estimation was right. He had books of his own, not as many as Balin’s collection, but plenty than those he had at Bag End. He must have had a lot of reading on the plush armchair he saw not far from the shelves; and a lot of writing and sketching on the inclined table. The floor was occupied by a large rug of wool where he found his feet liking the texture when rubbed on. Against the wall was the bed in velvet sheets. Once he laid himself down, he could hardly get up, wishing he could stay there forever.

He wasn’t told wrong when he found the splendid view his room has. As he was situated in a different part of the castle, the scenery had a more impressive sight of the running Long Lake, its waters twinkling. The other side of it laid the forest with trees thick in variety of red and green.

Bilbo was fond of the works of nature, and so the garden he tended at Bag End. Right outside the window was his long since wish of waking up to. He was sure it would be more beautiful during the mornings; added to that was the whiff of fresh air he would definitely get.   

And looking at the setup, he was indeed spoiled as Balin implied.

Bilbo sat at the edge of his bed, taking it all in. It was an odd sort of thing to be prioritized over those who were considered kin. Flattering, yes, but he felt unjust to them. Especially when each of Thorin’s company had contributed in their own way in reclaiming Erebor.      

His fingers unconsciously twisted the ring he was wearing. The very same he had brought back. He had been unaware that he had them on since being transported in this world. He guessed it has been serving as his link to the place.

At the back of his mind, he began to wonder what would happen if he removed it. Would he get back to where he originally from, his bedroom at Bag End? Would he hear that voice again? Would it even have an effect? And if not, would it mean living this life until the end of his days?

He studied it. The ring appeared as simple as it was in appearance—as if it possessed no tricks of its own. For an item with magic, it was rather… bland.

Bilbo closed his fist before letting his curiosity won. As much as this world was worse than he had wished for, there was the chance of improving the circumstances. In his optimism he believed he could do a change of tide and be it the right place he had imagined.

It would never be perfect, no, but as long as those he loved remained, it was enough.

He shifted on the bed, finding a comfortable spot to curl among the pillows. It was when he found a leather-bound book with a strap tied on its rightmost edge that kept it closed; not really conventional to him if its purpose was to be a lock of some sort. The thick bunch of papyrus the book contained was worn, with its corners dusted with tinge of yellow. His hobbit nose was met with the smell of old tomes—not one mixed with dust, mind you—but the wonderful scent of aging paper.

When he scanned, he noted the writing was not consistent—some small, some larger or much smaller than the previous letters—as there was also random ink blotches at some empty space and unrecognizable stains. A few words were crudely crossed out with thicker strokes, signifying the mistakes done during the writing.

Bilbo recognized the penmanship as his own. It was his diary.

Intrigued to know how different the series of events turned out for him before, he read from the very start.

* * *

**19 th of Afteryule**

_We won, but not without casualties and death. Thankfully, the fourteen of us are in one piece. Fili has few broken bones in the leg but they say he will walk. Kili’s arrow wound is aggravated and in need of stitching, but he’ll live. Thorin is yet to wake with his chest wound. I kind of worry. He’s breathing, but very shallow when I visited earlier._

_As much as our victory is a cause of merriment, there is no celebration tonight, and maybe the next. It’s fine, as long as the he wakes up, I can ask of no other._

_I don’t like to sleep tonight, not that I can anyway. I can rest while watching Thorin’s bedside. I do not like to wake up to news of him giving out in my sleep._

_May those who are fallen in battle rest in peace._

_-Bilbo_

***

**23 rd of Afteryule**

_He wakes! Thank goodness he finally did. I’m glad that my waiting had been not for naught. I feared the worst, but it seems that fate is not cruel as they say._

_My heart is now at ease before I go back to Bag End._

_-Bilbo_

***

**24 th of Afteryule**

_Thorin asks for me to stay when I told him of my plan to leave at the first light of Solmath. I can’t leave him, he says, because I’m the only one he trusts among his friends. It’s hard to believe, and I think still of it even now. He fears that he will someday be betrayed by one of them, or maybe by all. He knows I will not do the same._

_I don’t really know where he gets the notion of his other friends being unfaithful to him._

_-Bilbo_

***

**15 th of Solmath**

_I have decided to stay after all. As for the Bag End, I was assured I could return to Hobbiton at the month of Midyear’s Day. I can arrange the ownership of Bag End and the caretaker of the garden once I go back._

_It was Thorin’s coronation day. There was an assortment of dwarves present. The Iron Foot who helped us at the battle remained and some more arrived. Despite the momentary alliance with the elves, Thorin refused to acknowledge them, so none was present._

_I’ve seen Fili and Kili at the feast too. They seemed to have been up and about for a while now, but somehow kept at the infirmary longer than Thorin was. Óin says something about a written order from their mother as she is yet to come._

_I was baffled to hear from Fili that never did Thorin visit them while the brothers were recuperating. They are both saddened, and have the reason to. Thorin is more of their father than an uncle. But they understand, they say, that Thorin will never again have the time for them as he used to. Kili said it is a small price to pay as they have their home back, and a heavy responsibility of ruling the kingdom now lies on their uncle’s shoulders._

_Ah, they grow up easily._

_-Bilbo_

***

**28 th of Solmath**

_Erebor is rebuilding, and Thorin is overlooking the process. He asked for the throne room to be taken care of first and foremost. It was done the day before and so they began for the living quarters today. Dwarves indeed work fast._

_I visited Thorin in the late afternoon. Since he was bidden to be released from the healing house and was told to take it easy for a few months, he’s hardly in one place. But often, he’s found near his gold. I always find him counting them. Or when he is not, he sits on his throne, cradling the shining Arkenstone._

_He seems to revere it the most amongst all._

_-Bilbo_

***

**2 nd of Rethe**

_I met the Lady Dís. I must say she and Thorin are very much alike in appearance. Surprisingly, I do not find her unattractive despite the beard she has. I noticed that most of Kili’s features are from her, including the dark hair._

_We had a chat over tea, and it’s nice to know somebody around doesn’t drink ale all the time. An excellent conversationalist she is. And she is every bit royalty. Her brothers must have scared off plenty of her suitors in her early days._

_Oh, and she laughs at my jokes. Despite not like the crude one the dwarves like to make._

_Before she went, she told me she would like to chat to me again as we just did. She noted I must have been lonely being the odd one in a mountain of dwarves._

_She also said of something like me surpassing her expectation. Whatever that means._

_-Bilbo_

***

**30 th of Rethe**

_Lady Dís and I had our usual meeting. It’s a wonder we never ran out of anything to say. Although today, she was more serious and grave. She talked of her concern for Thorin. I thought she meant the injury he sustained, but no. It is the illness of his mind she speaks of._

_She said it grows worse. I was silent then for I do not know what to say. I’ve seen the same sickness, but before the battle. Or maybe I witness it still afterwards, especially when I see Thorin obsessing over the Arkenstone; but simply do not want to recognize it as such._

_She continued telling me of Thorin wanting to break his promise of donating aid in rebuilding Dale for the people who survived the Laketown. Thorin told her that as if all the men took up arms to fend for their own when they merely scampered in fright at the sight of the enemy. It was only the Dragonslayer and some men with spine who had fought to protect those of their coward kind. And that in the end, those very same cowards are the one to take most of the comfort of aid Erebor gives._

_I didn’t know Thorin sees it that way._

_-Bilbo_

***

**13 th of Astron**

_Thorin decided to display the Arkenstone in a far grander case of mithril and white gold. I do not get the purpose myself, but he explained it deserves to be placed in such than overhead of the seat of the throne. I wonder if that stone is a cause of madness, because the king announced next that the help in the reconstruction of Dale is to come only thrice a month beginning the next one._

_Bard the Dragonslayer, who was present then, was angry, but more disappointed. He said it wasn’t what they had agreed to. I can’t blame the Lord of Dale. Thorin merely said that take it as it is or none at all._

_Perhaps it was wrong of me to give to Thorin the Arkenstone when I found it. Maybe I should have hidden it for a while? At least until when he’s of sound mind?_

_Because if anything, the damned stone made him worse._

_-Bilbo_

***

**23 rd of Astron**

_Lady Dís left to return to Ered Luin. I was hurt that she didn’t even tell me yesterday. But, oh well, duty must have called._

_It was a different story from some dwarves though. I never pegged them as gossip-mongers but I heard from a few she is sent back for ‘questioning’ the king’s orders. Somehow, they began not to sound like hearsay anymore._

_Fili and Kili were clueless as to what happened but disappointed at her sudden departure nonetheless._

_I hope Thorin is not the cause of this._

_-Bilbo_

***

**9 th of Thrimidge**

_It must have been my imagination, but I’ve noticed Kili not being around that much. That or I’m simply too used to see him with his brother near._

_I wonder what happened with Kili and the red-haired elf he befriended at the journey._

_Fili is often with Balin. He is taught of everything in regards of his position as a prince. He has a knack for it anyway._

_Balin expressed to me his dismay with another of Thorin’s order. It is the king’s plan to place all the gold in the deep level of the palace and to have it entered by no one but him. It isn’t what stressed his royal advisor. It’s the thought of Thorin sounding like his grandfather, if not more terrible._

_It doesn’t seem good._

_-Bilbo_

***

**30 th of Thrimidge**

_This will be my last writing for a while. Tomorrow, I will begin my way back to Bag End to arrange some matters. Oh, what a journey again!_

_I am excited to be able to go back, although not permanently, but at least for a while to witness The Overlithe._

_At the same time, I worry for the king, and to those I will leave. My hope is for Thorin to not reduce himself to worse while I’m gone, for I might not recognize him anymore._

_That he might no longer be the friend I know—and not the dwarf I hold dearly to my heart anymore._

_-Bilbo_

* * *

Bilbo woke up to the evening chill and a knock on the door. He figured he must have fallen asleep in the middle of his reading. The diary he found was laid open beside him.

He shuddered when another blow of the night breeze came in through the open window. He hastily closed it before answering knock that went insistent.

He found Gimli at the other side of the door. “Good evening, Gimli,” he said, offering an apologetic smile. “I’ve slept the whole afternoon, it seems.” He inwardly lamented at the missed afternoon tea and dinner.

“Pleasant evening as well, Master Bilbo,” Gimli returned. “You have missed dinner, but it is yet supper. But if you’d like to have light dinner, I can ask someone in the kitchen.”

“Why, thank you, Gimli.” Bilbo was glad at the dwarf’s consideration. He smiled gratefully.

“But I’m not here to inform of your missed meal.” Gimli stood formally. “King Thorin wishes to speak with you in private.”  

“I see,” Bilbo said after a beat. “Give me a minute.”

Bilbo was not exactly surprised. Thinking back, it must be related to that afternoon. He went for the coat he noticed hanging when he first entered the room. It was light, but warm, and of perse color. Perfect.

He feared that he might be subjected to wandering once again. Thankfully, he was escorted to the king’s chamber by Gimli himself. And was left outside alone.

When he became curious as to why he wasn’t received at the throne room, he heard the command to enter.

Bilbo promptly followed and went inside. Not another step, he gaped at how the king’s private chamber looked like. It was very identical to his own—the positioning of the furniture and all. The mere difference was the sizes proportionate for a dwarf, and the richer color of the drapes and the blanket.  

There was a deep chuckle. “You look as if you have never been here,” Thorin pointed out. He held out two golden goblets of ale, and gave one to him while gesturing for Bilbo to sit.

Bilbo was about to sit down on the soft-looking cushion when he immediately stood up straight, frowning to himself and looking down at his feet against the pleasant brown rug. “I... thank you, Your Highness.” He found the title weird in his own tongue. “I am told that you wish to talk to me.”       

When he was met with silence, he risked looking up. He saw Thorin fixing his jaw. “I told you not to call me that when we’re alone,” Thorin whispered.  “You’re upset.”

Bilbo tilted his head. “I’m what?”

“At me. You’re upset at me,” Thorin breathed. He began pacing nervously. “Earlier, in my hasty judgment of Kili and Ori.” He stopped moving, and instead faced a shock Bilbo. “I am sorry.”

It must have been for a while when Bilbo realized his jaw slacking. “What for?”

“For upsetting you. For disappointing. For not being good enough. For everything. I don’t know!” Thorin exclaimed and buried his face in his huge palms.

The king apologizing to him was the last thing in the hobbit’s mind. He didn’t expect this—him sitting inside Thorin’s room, ale in hand, and the king himself being apologetic for his action. Was he anticipated to lash out then?

It took him long to find his voice. “It’s not me who deserves you apology,” he said gently, putting away his drink to sit beside Thorin on the bed. “It’s Kili and Ori, don’t you think?”  

It was difficult to speak; especially you have no idea what you were really supposed to say. But Bilbo was pleased, for Thorin showed sign of knowing he was being blind, and he recognized his own mistakes.

“You’re right,” Thorin said, nodding. “I have been wrong—wrong since these past decades. No wonder those I hold close to my heart distanced themselves.” He looked away, ashamed. “It was wrong to not fulfill my promise to the Dragonslayer, and instead cut them off and made it harder for their lives to recover. Alas, Bard is not with us anymore to make amends.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “It was wrong of me to turn away Dís, my beloved sister. She hates the king that I had become, and would rather have me as I was before—no titles under my name and no kingdom to rule over, but having a humble home with the fellow I consider my family, contented to the simple life. She was right when she feared for her sons’ safety under my wing.”

Bilbo let him continue. “I sent Fili away. He is earnest and full of passion and spirit in proving himself. And, Mahal forgive me, I used that knowledge. I let him go to Khazad-dûm where even an army of dwarves failed to reclaim. It is an evil place where I myself do not want to go. But Fili went, with my consent, with a handful of trusted dwarves. Do you know why?” He croaked. “Just so I could eliminate my heir, so I will not be forced to retire when age deem me incapable. They must have realized—Balin, especially—my plan is and how sickening it is. They turned away for they do not recognize their Thorin in me anymore. With Fili out of the scene, they must have expected of me to turn to Kili next. And they’re not wrong.”

Bilbo’s chest was filled of dread as he registered Thorin’s words. He wasn’t finished.

“Aye, I wish for him gone too. And will you even believe that I found my way how just when I asked for it. I secretly entered Kili’s room and found letters from an elf, Tauriel. If my memory serves me correct, she would be that one who Kili is indebted of his life. I never got the chance to thank her for returning him to us, despite Kili not being one of her kind. I know… I know the letters are harmless and filled only of their love for each other. And once investigated, my ground will be gone—and so I’ve decided to burn them. As for Ori, I’ve decided to throw him in while my real target is Kili, just so I can avoid the suspicion of killing of those who are next in my line. I do not want to have an heir, and I’m quite determined to live my days being king, not some retired and old dwarf in the end. The very same reason I refuse to marry and have children. My mistakes are more than those, but they are the gravest, although the others are not as forgivable.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo, blue eyes meeting those dismayed ones. “And that is my folly— I prided myself having potential for more than I can hold as long as I bear the stone to show my right as a king. I believed in my own greatness and revered the power of gold and the Arkenstone. When there are others I should have put first above all.” He deftly cradled Bilbo’s small hands, afraid he might hurt the hobbit. “And to you, I say sorry again, for not letting you leave my side and tormenting you by bearing witness to my growing sickness. I know I have always been wrong in your eyes, and now, perhaps the most terrible you met in your whole life.”

Bilbo bit his lip, gazing away and moving from Thorin’s nearness. The king was not surprised. “And I say to you, should you wish to go back to your home—your real home, I wish you the safest of travel. You will leave your friends, aye, but they will understand your wish to go far from here, where there are mostly hurt even when after victory. Do not look back, and forget the name of Thorin Oakenshield, who caused you great pain in return of your kindness and loyalty. He who is not your king, but a jester who poses as one.”    

And Bilbo recognized him clearly now, past his slightly aged visage due to the pressure of time and kingship. It was him who he had adored for his leadership and valiant heart, who rarely smiled, but whenever he did, it never failed to brighten Bilbo’s mood considerably. He who loved his nephews dearly, and spoke highly of their mother. He who set out to reclaim his mountain, but more for his companions than himself.

“You oaf,” Bilbo muttered as he rushed and gathered Thorin in a hug. It was supposed to be bone-crushing as how dwarves liked it, but given his short arms and being non-muscular, it became like a hug of that of a child. Bilbo didn’t mean it any lesser. “You can be very dramatic when you like to.”

Thorin held him close and smiled against his shoulders. “That, I am. But I mean what I said. Every bit of it.”

“I know,” Bilbo simply said. “And I mean what I said as well. I’m not without faults myself, but if I would like to be here still. Leaving you will not do when you suddenly learn how to be yourself again. Before, I journeyed with you to regain your home, and now,” he paused. “I want to be with you in surpassing this darkness of your mind. If you’ll let me.”   

Bilbo was delighted to have Thorin back.   

At the corners of his eyes, he noticed the short glint the ring gave off. Thorin didn’t seem aware of it. Bilbo almost forgot about the ring and how it led him right at that moment.

 _Thank you,_ he thought sincerely, feeling satisfied.

“I happen to find this conversation rather tearful,” Thorin commented lightly, turning his face away from Bilbo for some reason. The hobbit could hear some sniffs.

“Still prideful as ever,” Bilbo said drily. “You deserve a handkerchief for that, _King Thorin._ ” He was given a glare by Thorin in which Bilbo answered with a grin.

He found one inside the pocket of his coat. The fabric wasn’t folded neatly as he would like, but somewhat stuffed only there in haste. Bilbo rolled his eyes at the untidiness. He pulled it, and something tumbled out.

A small vial rolled on the floor. At the height of impact, it would surely break if not for the rug that caught it. Bilbo went to pick it up, but was beaten to it by Thorin.

The king held it up. The liquid inside was sickly green in color with a tint of purple. Whatever it was, Bilbo was sure it wasn’t a medicine of some sort—or if it was even safe. Thorin paled in recognition.

“Where did you get this?” he asked weakly.

“I don’t… I don’t even know what that is,” Bilbo said honestly. He didn’t recall touching his coat upon donning it.

“Why do you have this?” Thorin tried again, keeping his voice leveled. “Please, tell me.”

“I don’t know. I told you I don’t even know what that is,” Bilbo pressed.

“Liar!” The king cried, and Bilbo jumped at the loud sound. “Why?” Thorin asked, but mostly to himself than the other. The small bottle was clutched tightly in his palm; any second more it would break under the force that made his knuckles turn white.

“I don’t know what you say!” Bilbo exclaimed, shocked for the situation to turn bad from good.

“And I should believe you?” Thorin snarled, standing in his full height. “You who wish to kill me in my own chamber!”

Bilbo was taken aback, as if doused by a cold bucket of water. “What?”

“This. This poison you have,” Thorin started. “Did you plan to use this tonight? After everything I said… is this your plan all along? Exploit me when I am at my most vulnerable?” He looked mournfully at Bilbo. “I can’t believe it.”

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t know what you speak of.” Bilbo bit back his frustration.

“Then is there other reason why you have atropine in your person?”

 _“We assassinate the king.”_ Bilbo suddenly remembered the words too well, and he was filled of dread again.

Thorin was received no answer. “I thought as much.”

“I didn’t know I have one,” Bilbo insisted, although he knew it was weak of a protest. Thorin would hear none of it.

“Of course, you’ll say that.” Thorin turned his back. “I thought I was right about you. I trusted you, Bilbo. But it looks like I shouldn’t. Go away from here while I still can. I might not be as forgiving any later.” He was calm, but there was an underlying threat.

Bilbo would have none of that. “No, I won’t! Not until you hear me out.” He dared to approach closer, but regretted it in an instant when he was met with the furious face of the king.

“What more is there to hear?” he hissed, advancing closer dangerously. “The other ways you could kill me? Of the blame that is not yours but of somebody else?” Bilbo realized the Thorin he was talking to earlier was no longer present, already replaced with the mad king. “That I deserve death for everything that I have done?”

Bilbo shook his head vehemently. “No, damn it! I’ve seen that you still have that chance to redeem yourself, and I will help you.”

Thorin closed his eyes in disbelief. “Another lie, isn’t it? Oh, you have no idea how much I wanted to hold on to that.”

There was a loud crash that followed as Bilbo was pushed against the vanity. There was a ringing on his ears from the impact that made him see stars momentarily. He was yet to recover from the assault when his feet touched the air as he was then unceremoniously dumped on the bed, wind knocked out of him. Firm, broad hands clasped themselves on a tight grip around his neck. It was Thorin, choking the life out of him. His face was dark and positively murderous. Bilbo struggled, squirming and twisting his body to release himself. Unfortunately, Thorin was of bigger stature and much stronger compared to him.

“No,” Bilbo gasped against the vice like grip. “Thorin…” The king didn’t even flinch at Bilbo’s thumping of fists against his shoulders and arms, or when he kicked underneath against those thick robes.

His vision was rapidly turning dim at the sides when he glanced at the ring. In his clouded mind, he remembered deducing its purpose as his link to this place. And if he was right, removing it might save his life.

He hoped. Should it be otherwise, he would perish then—in the hands of Thorin Oakenshield himself.

Bilbo had sensed his impending death.

With his last draw of strength, he pulled the golden band off, and it was in that situation where he found it the most difficult to.

The last thing he saw was the king crying and apologizing over and over.

* * *

Bilbo gasped awake on his bed. His bed at Bag End.

On his nerveless hand was the ring.

He figured out that he was correct after all.  

He regulated his breath, taking a lungful and exhaling. Checking on the mirror for marks around his neck, he found none despite the lingering sensation. It had felt real. And it probably was, in a way.

It was scary to think that Thorin was capable of such.

Even though he had spent a day on that place, he had missed only a few hours of the night. A dawn was breaking over the hills in weak light.

Bilbo felt tired at the lack of sleep, and even more due to the incident. He placed the ring away from him as much as possible before returning to his covers. He might not touch the object again for a while. Or if he could, never again.

_It’s for the best._

He decided to get the rest he needed, and not to think of what had transpired. Although he knew it would be forever in his mind.

Should anyone strain their ears, they could hear the muffled sobs in Bag End.

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit, The Lord of The Rings (both movies and book series), and the characters mentioned. They belong to their rightful owner.
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

Bilbo dreamed of the past.

_It was back in Erebor, when the dragon was recently killed. He had an acorn on his hand, thinking of bringing it back with him to Bag End and to plant it in his garden. He was studying it when hurried footsteps came nearer._

_“What is that?” It was Thorin, immediately walking to him. “In your hand?”_

_Bilbo instantly sat up. “It… It’s nothing,” he said hesitantly._

_Thorin wasn’t convinced. “Show me.”_

_Oh, alright, Bilbo thought. He held out his hand and showed the acorn. “I picked it up. In Beorn’s garden,” he explained._

_Blue eyes softened significantly, eyeing the acorn, and then Bilbo whom his gaze lingered. “You carried it all this way,” he stated simply._

_“I’m going to plant it in my garden,” the hobbit said. “In Bag End.”_

_Thorin couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a poor price to take back to the Shire.”_

_Bilbo shrugged. “One day, it will grow,” he pointed out. “And every time I look at it, I’ll remember. Remember everything that happened—the good, the bad… and how lucky I am that I made it home.” He managed a weak smile._

_Thorin didn’t comment further, but he gave a fond smirk, very satisfied with the answer._

_Bilbo’s smile went confident, but it was abrupt for he remembered of an important matter to say. “Thorin,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “I…”_

* * *

Bilbo woke past luncheon, feeling very drained despite coming from sleep recently.

The ring remained at the nightstand, settled there innocently. Bilbo looked at it for a moment, thinking back on the previous events. It seemed surreal. He expected a dreamless sleep to follow—heck, he wasn’t expecting himself to fall asleep even. Crying must have made him tired somewhat.

He lamented for himself, his supposedly doom by the hands of Thorin himself. Of course, he was aware that wasn’t the Thorin who was his friend. But to think of the possibility of Thorin turning that way if he had lived, he couldn’t help but shudder at the chilling thought.

And he wouldn’t start in regards to the poison.

He closed his eyes, swallowing. Taking a last glance at the ring, he felt a slight pull towards it.

 _Of course, you liked that,_ he thought ruefully.

Bilbo chose to ignore it this time, resolved in catching up on elevenses and luncheon. 

* * *

He busied himself for the whole day, and the next day, and the next. He would stay longer at his garden, weeding the soil and watering the greens more than once a day. He would offer assistance from time to time to a neighbor or two at high noon until the afternoon, or dusk if he could have it. During evenings, he would linger outdoors for another hour—blowing smoke rings, and staring at the night sky, looking for nothing in particular.

He would do anything to keep off some things from his mind. And more importantly, away from the ring.

He couldn’t deny the insistent tugging it was doing to him though.

It was another night time when he sighed, resisting it no more.

_I am a really weak hobbit._

**“You are back,” the voice said, as if expecting Bilbo.**

“I am,” the hobbit said. “Despite what happened.” 

**“It didn’t turn out well.” The voice seemed amused by this. “Disastrous, I might say.”**

“You know what will happen then,” Bilbo pointed. “You knew I will die in that world.”

**“Oh no, my dear Bilbo. I know very well what lies in that place. But the consequences are solely yours to bear for you shape them yourself with your decisions,” the voice said, excluding himself of the blame.**

“Right. Of course,” Bilbo said drily. “I am to blame then if Thorin wanted to kill me.”

**The voice laughed. “A mad one, sadly. It’s a wonder how he deserved such devotion from you.” The voice paused, considering a thought. “You want him alive, but that would mean him being not himself should he survive—a Thorin of sound mind then? Though I might say his illness and his life are... inseparable, don’t you think?”**

Bilbo decided not to answer the mocking voice.

**“It matters not, as such is within my capabilities. It will be your second world to travel to.”**

“Actually, I’m…” he began, and paused for a while. “Well, I want to refuse that and the other one,” Bilbo said finally. “I don’t think I’m up for another of that situation.” He raked his hand on his curls. “It’s what I’ve been meaning to say.”

There was a deafening silence that followed. Bilbo would have thought the voice vanished, offended, and left him there alone.

**“I see. You are not satisfied,” the voice told him simply. “Very well, that can be arranged.”**

Bilbo frowned. “What do—”

In return, he found himself swallowed by the blinding darkness.   

* * *

Bilbo mentally cursed before opening his eyes.

 _That damned voice didn’t listen!_ He groaned in frustration. _Here we go again._ He dared open his eyes and took his surroundings.

Unsurprisingly, he was in Erebor, for the second time around; although now he was at the entrance of it. He was not aware of the heavy pack he was carrying on his back until he stepped forward.

He was traveling then, judging the situation. Traveling from Hobbiton to Erebor, he deduced.

Before he could wonder what to do next, standing there at the gates of the castle awkwardly, loud shouts of his name came forward. And with those came rushing twelve dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company.

With the uncontrolled momentum, some had toppled over him, the hobbit being squashed by the largest of them all—Bombur. On top of Bombur were Bofur, Ori, and then the brothers Kili and Fili. Bilbo found himself having difficulty in breathing, air almost leaving his body. He would become a nicely squashed hobbit indeed!

There were hearty laughs that rang. Mostly from those who wasn’t part of the pile. Bilbo saw Balin crouching by them; Dwalin not standing afar from his brother, shaking his head in amusement. Glóin and Óin, with his trumpet, were taking merry at the situation. Bifur fondly chiding those on top of Bilbo, and was laughing on his own. Dori and Nori were tasking himself on pulling Bilbo from underneath, commenting that Bilbo would be as good as flattened any second later.

“Thank you very much for that,” Bilbo said, rolling his eyes as he stretched, dusting his clothes. As much as he would like to be irritated, seeing everybody’s fond smile made his heart ache. His last parting with them after the battle was tearful, and three of the company was missing then. But now, they were here, in front of him, Kili and Fili even. It was only Thorin who was missing.

“You gave Master Baggins quite a welcome,” a voice said from behind the dwarves. The group parted to let their king came through. “My apologies for not being with them, immediate affairs will not look out for themselves.”

Bilbo held his breath upon seeing Thorin again. He tried not to remember his last encounter with the other Thorin. _This is a different Thorin,_ he reminded himself. _Although how different, I don’t know._

“Thorin.” Bilbo caught himself when he took notice of the crown the dwarf was wearing. “King Thorin.”

The king’s brows drew closer to a slight frown before rushing to the hobbit forward, gathering him against his body. Bilbo was somehow taken aback when pulled to a tight hug.

“You came,” Thorin said to him. “I wasn’t expecting that you would.” He held Bilbo’s smaller shoulders. “You are from miles away, and yet here you are.” Blue eyes gratefully met Bilbo’s. “Thank you.”

 _Oh, this Thorin feels quite not like the other,_ Bilbo thought. His fear had ebbed away seeing naught any discomfort or displeasure from the company. Any trace of madness seemed gone from Thorin, but instead replaced by warmth of a dwarf who was complete of himself, as Bilbo had pieced out. _The ring spoke true,_ he decided, but held it, setting aside his judgment about that for a while. 

He smiled hesitantly, looking down in embarrassment at the attention he was getting, not to mention the exchange he had with the king. He coughed a bit. “It’s no matter,” he replied unsurely. “Journey wasn’t as perilous as before.” He hoped that he had met each and every one through the journey; else, he would have to explain more (but honestly, he could think of another circumstances where he could happen to know thirteen bunch of dwarves). “And it has been a while since I’ve seen you all.” The last statement was said truthfully.

“It’s no matter, he says. But last I heard Shire is not as near as Dale,” Kili said, giving Bilbo a light jab. “Aye, I’d say our Burglar here rushed the very moment he received the invitation.”

“Too eager to travel that you’d ride a dragon to fly you here?” Fili teased with his brother. Kili snickered at that. At the sidelines, Thorin gave a reprimanding look, but didn’t comment.

“You’ve missed us dearly, didn’t you, Bilbo?” Bofur asked. Bilbo turned red for Bofur wasn’t really wrong. “You know you could have lived with us here instead. No hassle of journey,” Bofur reminded.

“I do have a garden to tend to,” Bilbo retorted. “They will not be as glorious as they are now if not for my attention.”

“Do they come on par with the elves’ garden now that they couldn’t be left?” Glóin remarked. Bilbo raised an eyebrow when he recognized the compliment the dwarf made, related to elves no less. He thought he must have heard it wrong, for it came from one of the dwarves of the company who strongly shows animosity towards the elves.

 _Weird_. Bilbo wondered if it would be one of the things that would be different in the world he was currently in.

“Alright, let us not tease him any further,” Balin announced. “It is good of Master Baggins to join us for tomorrow’s festivity.”

“Festivity?” Bilbo asked before catching himself. “I wasn’t aware.” It might have been included in the letter they supposedly sent to him.

“It is alright, King Thorin himself asked not to mention it in the letter,” Balin said, nodding to the king for consent. Thorin gave him one. “It will be King Thorin’s wedding tomorrow’s evening. And you are cordially invited.”

“Pardon?”

Balin and the king exchanged knowing looks. Thorin who wasn’t speaking for a while came forward, facing Bilbo again. “I told Balin you wouldn’t believe it. What more in a written letter?” His eyes lowered gently. “But yes, I have decided to take your advice. You are right, Master Baggins; I shouldn’t have dallied any longer. And what joy it gave me,” Thorin said softly. “And I thank you again, for giving me the courage and the push I needed to the right direction.”

Bilbo digested the words. Thorin would be married, by his advice even. His counterpart in this world seemed masochistic enough to send the one he was holding dearly to pursue another. _Really._ “That’s, that’s great!” he forced to say. “Congratulations!” He almost heard the shriek he made. “Finally.” He wanted to pinch his own skin for sprouting words he wasn’t even sure of. He didn’t even know who Thorin was betrothed.

He wondered if it was a female dwarf of royalty, of some dwarf clan perhaps. She was probably somebody he had meet years before the start of their journey in reclaiming Erebor, whom Thorin never mentioned having feelings for. Thorin never talked of any of his private life anyway. Was she even somebody from the real world as well? She could be somebody Thorin had come to know in this world and discovered an interest for after the battle, perhaps the little time before Bilbo’s return to Hobbiton. Besides, so short a time could make anybody know of love. Dwarves were known to have their One, and she might be Thorin’s. Bilbo wouldn’t know.

He could imagine the most perfect partner for Thorin—a dwarrowdam of steadfastness, courage, and incomparable beauty. Somebody who could match his stubbornness and pride, pulling him up from his darkest of moments. The most Thorin could trust with his life.        

“At the rate of longing stares the uncle and the Elvenking give each other, I’m not surprised,” Kili muttered under his breath. Fili sniggered.

That seemed to earn a slight blush from the king.  

Bilbo stopped.

_Thorin and the Elvenking._

_Huh?_

If he was hearing right that would mean…

“Aye, aye, laddies,” Balin interrupted the two princes good-naturedly. He turned to Bilbo. “You are officially invited to the wedding of King Thorin of Erebor, and King Thranduil of the Greenwood Realm.”

Bilbo looked between Balin and Thorin, vice versa. He dared to spare a look even to the others. He expected guffaws from the brothers, anticipating a good joke.

There was none.

He realized it was for real.

The hobbit didn’t know whether to laugh or… _I don’t know._ A dwarf and an elf, to be married, and by the looks of it not even arranged out of their choice. Bilbo tried to register it—and it was hard to. He wasn’t even talking about some random dwarf and an elf here. It was Thorin and King Thranduil! The very same King Under the Mountain and the Elvenking who both possess all the enmity of their respective races towards each other. Bilbo’s head couldn’t help but go dizzy processing everything.

And for twice in that world, he found himself meeting the floor ungracefully—again.

* * *

Bilbo could feel the soft bed against his back. He would think he was back in Bag End, somehow able to go back. But then there were the hushed low voices he could hear near him.

“You shouldn’t have done that to him,” there was a voice reprimanding, but not loud to the ears. It sounded like Óin. Miraculously, he could actually speak at that volume.

“We’re sorry,” another to Bilbo’s left said. He knew it was Bofur.

“He does look pale,” a different voice commented. _Fili?_ “The journey from then to here was indeed tiring.” Bilbo was sure it was Fili.

“But I don’t think that’s the reason why he lost consciousness,” Kili, Bilbo recognized. “Maybe it’s uncle’s marriage to King Thranduil?”

That made Bilbo went wide awake. Right. He almost forgot about that.

Óin’s exasperated sigh came. “I told you to pipe down your voices. Now you had awakened him.” He edged closer to Bilbo, shaking his head at them. “How are you feeling, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo sat up. “Fine.” His throat was dry when he spoke. “Water.” He was promptly given one. He finished the whole glass and asked for more. “How long was I out?”

Bofur answered, “Only for two hours. Rest up! We can have you brought food if you’d like.”

 _That seemed a good idea_. “Thank you,” Bilbo said. “I might have overestimated my exhaustion.”

Óin nodded. “You did. We’re all worried. The others went to their respective duties for the mean time, but they plan to visit if ever you are up to receiving them. King Thorin, even.”

“They don’t need to bother if they’re busy,” the hobbit assured. “I understand anyway.”

Kili and Fili pushed against Bilbo’s either sides. “Of course they’ll have time for you,” they younger one said.

“Uncle, most of all,” Fili said, smiling. “You’re part of the family.”

“Speaking of which, _Amad_ will be coming,” Kili said excitedly. “You’ll like her.”

Of that, Bilbo had no doubt he would. He might have met the Lady Dís, albeit on a different world. But he believed she wouldn’t be any different here than there. At least, there appeared to be no more cause of distress for her. She would see her sons safe and happy under her brother’s care. It made Bilbo glad for her.

“I’m sure I will,” Bilbo said. “And she would see the rascals the two of you became.”

Bofur snorted. “You wouldn’t expect they’re Lady Dís’s sons especially the way they behave.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Fili protested. “As if you don’t do pranks with us!”

“That was once!”

“Oh yeah? Same thing!”

“Quiet, you three!” Óin hissed at them. “You have no shame for Master Baggins resting here.” That seemed to stop the trio.  

At their mutters of apologies, Bilbo couldn’t resist chuckling. “It’s alright, you know.” _It’s not like I see this moment often,_ he thought sadly. “But, yes, I’d like to catch on some sleep before I eat.” Putting food second to priorities was rarely heard of for a hobbit.

“You here that lads? Out with you,” the healer barked. The three dwarves followed, but not before bidding Bilbo their temporary goodbyes and ‘see you later’.

“I will be fine now, I think,” Bilbo said. “Thank you, Óin.”

“My pleasure, Master Baggins,” the dwarf replied sincerely. “It is seldom you grace us with your presence.” He patted the hobbit’s knee. “Bofur is right. The king’s offer of residence still stands, and we’d very much like it for you to live with us here in Erebor.” He added, “Although the soil will need a harder tilling, I’m afraid.”  

Bilbo grinned. “I know. That’s why I refused in the first place,” he replied in jest. “But I’ll think about it. It’s a small thing to pay after all in seeing Kili and Fili slowly ruining the palace with their… fun activities.”

“And you’d think they should be matured enough by now,” Óin grumbled. “Fili, especially. Although I don’t blame them. It is refreshing to see them lively. The battle took a toll on every one of us. Those two are some of the few who still has their youth innocence with them.”

 _Seeing Kili and Fili being lively again is one of my greatest wish too._ “You’re right. To see us all alive and well, and with you reclaiming your home. I’d ask for nothing more.”

“You are very kind, Master Baggins. For you to journey all that way for us, hazardous as it was. Just to see send us home. Aye, we’ll never forget what you did.”

 

 

 

Bilbo was left alone after several minutes. It was his room, as he had gathered, where he was in. Óin believed he would be better settled in his own chambers instead of the infirmary; it was a slight fatigue only as he was told.

His private quarters were not as large as the one he had before. This was smaller, but not lacking in furniture despite not being a permanent room of his. If anything, it resembled his room at Bag End. Small, but spacious for him to move around. Perfect.  

He found no diary under the pillows this time, nor inside the pack he had carried which was situated on a corner. It contained mostly of supplies for the trip he had, and a box of spices and a jar of Old Toby even. He had a pipe at least.

Without a personal record of the events, he wouldn’t be able to get the information in connection to the version of him in this world, and in the happenings that had transpired in the earlier timeline. It might give him a clue as to the unexplainable intimate relationship between Thorin and the Elvenking that seemed to exist here. 

That or he could ask Thorin himself.

Bilbo decided that to be his last resort.

His eyes wandered to the ring he was wearing. It was there again, as usual. And he could remove it as he pleased and send himself away of this world, ridding himself of the mystery he somehow had the urge to know. But so far, nothing called for him to do so. Putting aside the fact that there happened to be no bad blood between the elves and the dwarves—like the one he had known—the place seemed fairly normal. No internal conflicts within the dwarves of the company here, or any mention of outsider’s displeasure to King Thorin’s ruling, meaning he wasn’t labeled a mad king here. Thorin was healthy of mind, free of illness.  

And he seemed… happy.

 _Then what reason is there to leave?_  Bilbo asked himself. He found it ridiculous that he would even decline the offer of the ring to him.

“Master Baggins?”

Bilbo turned from the window that overlooked a different view. He found the king by the doorway. The hobbit immediately straightened at the visitor.

“You are up. Óin said that you’ll be resting,” Thorin said as he closed the door, coming nearer. “I was expecting you to be asleep, but decided to check up on you otherwise.”

“It’s fine. I can’t get back to sleep anyway.” Bilbo gestured for a seat in which the dwarf declined.

“How are you faring?” The king asked.

“Way better now. I must have exerted myself, but nothing serious as they told me. Which a good luncheon can remedy, I suppose,” was Bilbo’s answer.

“That, I’m not surprised,” Thorin said, smiling. “You never changed.”

“You know me, Thorin.” Bilbo paused. “I mean, King Thorin.”

“That was twice you called me king,” the dwarf pointed out. “I told you to call me Thorin. That’s what I am to my friends and kin,” he reminded.

“And that’s Bilbo to you,” the hobbit retorted. It was followed by an amused agreement from the king. A short silence passed before Bilbo spoke again. “You’ll be married, tomorrow.” He bit his cheek. “That is the last thing I expected before coming here,” he said softly, barely audible, but not unheard.

“Will you believe that I don’t either? But as you said, I am not getting younger, nor am I an immortal like Thranduil. He could wait for me for another millennia, but I couldn’t do the same for him. It was what made me make up my mind. Nothing will happen if I didn’t take courage in making a move. And the three years that passed were fruitful. What happiness I found after the challenges and hardships I endured,” Thorin said, bliss visible in his words. “Sometimes I would think if I dreamt those that had come to pass, and then find myself the same young prince back then, a naïve and inexperienced one, before the dragon came. But if that is so, then I’d gladly face Smaug once again just so I can fulfill my destiny and arrive to the end of it all.”

Bilbo was now definitely sure the Thorin he was with was a total contrast of the one he encountered before this. Today, he was with a Thorin who spoke of love, not for riches or the Arkenstone, but for another he has in his heart. This was a dwarf king who was a survivor of war and dragon fire, and in the end saw that was good behind those. He, who had conquered the darkness of his own self, and emerging victorious to see the fruits of his years of labor.

“You truly love him,” Bilbo stated simply. Thorin looked away bashfully.

“Aye, although at first, I had thought that what I was feeling was immense gratitude, for his rescue of us in Erebor, of those he could still save, and for not turning away when we needed aid the most. Most of the dwarves then began their journey to Ered Luin after recovering for a while from the attack. But there were those who were too old to travel, and there were plenty. I did not abandon them, and remained there until their peaceful passing. It was good of the Elvenking to let us stay, and gave those who had died in the incident and of natural cause the dwarven burial they deserved. I admired him since then, serving as my role model when it comes to leading my people. It was respect he had for us despite the grievances our ancestors had caused their kind. King Thranduil did not turn a blind eye, saying it was a matter of the past, and what was important was the present. We could never turn back the time to make it better, but we could start with what we had that day for a much better future between our races.”

Thorin paused, a smile gracing his lips as he recalled a fond memory. “I remembered crying in front of him after the battle where I lost most of my family—my brother, father, and grandfather—and the other dwarves who were taken from their loved ones. Thranduil had seen me at my most vulnerable, not in the midst of violence, but by the end of it. I couldn’t bear the amount of loss, and I didn’t think I deserved to be the leader of those remaining. I admitted that I was weak, young and would not do well to lead my people. The Elvenking comforted me, letting me grieve. That I couldn’t have avoided the deaths for they were always part of battles, and told me that I was anything but weak and by showing my tears proved that to him. I knew that I love him right there and then.”

Bilbo could do nothing but stare only at those blue eyes filled with awe and reverence. The emotion swirling at those orbs was caused by the variety of the circumstances this world has. There was no hatred that was existing in between the dwarves and the elves, and so the relationship between their present kings was born. It was a peaceful notion—two kingdoms of different race would be joined as one, but at the same time independent of their own. The future generation would surely benefit at the stronghold of the north should another evil came down upon them.

It was the most perfect of set up—both parties to be conjugated out of love, ensuring a lasting truce.

_As if I would go between that._

“I am glad that you found your own happiness.” _Truly, I am._ “You deserve it, Thorin. The both of you.” Bilbo didn’t want to think more of how the words seemed like ash on his tongue.  

“Thank you,” Thorin said, every bit grateful. “I wouldn’t be here if not for your help as well. For acting on the right thing, putting away the Arkenstone from me and giving it to Thranduil. You knew he was the only one my mind would recognize as I was trapped in the muddled consciousness I conjured myself. And you were right.” The king gazed at him meaningfully. “Any later, I would have been beyond saving.”

 _I had accepted defeat long before,_ Bilbo realized glumly. _It was not returned since then, and never will be._

“I had forgotten to commend on your fast thinking,” Thorin told him. “That was one of the reason I am glad to be your friend, Bilbo.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but lose some of his optimism.

* * *

The supper was a merry affair.

The thirteen dwarves and the hobbit of Thorin Oakenshield’s company were around a long table, sharing a hearty meal amongst each other. Despite being known a large eater due to his kind, Bilbo was overwhelmed at the amount of food that kept flowing from the kitchen and to the table. It was enough to last him for two days, and he would thought it was a feast already.  

If only he had the appetite he usually has. He found himself setting only for whole roasted chicken, baked potatoes, a steamed fish, and five servings of buttered rice. There were also three apples dipped in caramel he intended for his dessert. Large for others perhaps, but somewhat small for a hobbit.

 _Don’t be selfish, Bilbo! You’re a proper hobbit,_ he rebuked himself. _Do not ruin it for them by being gloomy!_

He remembered how the dwarves had dined in Bag End before, how his pantry was raided. He had been out of himself for having guests who didn’t observe proper decorum, and he’d rather they never come back again. He promised never to receive the dwarves of Thorin Oakenshield’s company—any dwarf for that matter. But after his return from the journey, he was looking forward to have them again, complete. Bilbo would not mind their manners; he would not care if they dulled the knives and forks, or if they break a plate or two. Those were replaceable.

What he would give to have thirteen dwarves and a wizard to knock on his door at Bag End!

“You are spacing out,” Bofur observed. He was seated on Bilbo’s left. His voice was a whisper amidst the loud cheers the others were making. There were bets as to how many puddings could be stuffed inside Bombur’s mouth.

“I recalled something of some years ago,” Bilbo’s answered, clipped. “All of you and Gandalf.”

Bofur had a puzzled expression. “Gandalf? You mean Gandalf the Grey?” he muttered the name repeatedly, as if trying the name.

“Yes,” the hobbit replied unsurely. “You don’t know him?”

“I’ve heard of him. A traveling wizard, isn’t he?” Bofur asked, “What about him and the company?”

 _Oh._ It dawned to Bilbo that they never met a wizard, nor accompanied by Gandalf throughout the journey. _That’s odd. But now that I think about it, there was no mention of him either in_ that _other place._

“Gandalf makes the best fireworks.”

“And?”

Bilbo shook his head. “As I said, something I merely recalled together. The fauntlings in Hobbiton love it when he lights some.”

Bofur nodded in understanding, although somewhat not satisfied. “You are thinking of something else,” he observed further. “You are frowning a lot since coming here. As if you’re trying to figure everything.”

 _That might be the best way to describe it._ “It looks like I do, huh,” Bilbo half agreed, half denying.

“Pensive,” Fili offered from behind Bofur. “That, you are.”

Bilbo looked away. “Not aware.”

“Is it because uncle will be marrying?”

 _Yes._ “Of course not.” Bilbo coughed. “I mean, sure, it did shock me a bit. But it isn’t the reason, no.” _Any more of ‘I’m happy for him anyway’ and I will smack myself._

“Ah, I think I know.” A spark of recognition seemed to light on his eyes. “You are thinking of settling down yourself.”

“What? No! What gives you that idea?!”

The blonde dwarf shrugged. “Well, seeing that tonight is uncle’s last night as a bachelor, you might be considering, I dunno, making a family of your own? You did say you’re at the right age for an adult hobbit anyway.”  

Kili piped in. Bilbo wasn’t sure how long he had been listening. “Oh, will you be having plenty of hobbitlings? I bet they’ll be cute!”

“It’s ‘fauntlings’, not ‘hobbitlings’,” Bilbo corrected exasperatedly. “And no, I’m not planning on _settling down_ ,” he emphasized. “I’m determined to live as a bachelor for the rest of my hobbit life.”

The brothers and Bofur exchanged looks.

“That’s a rather sad plan, don’t you think?” Bofur commented.

 _What choice do I have?_ Bilbo thought harshly. “Not everyone living alone is lonely.” He was lying but as if they would find out anyway. “And I’d have the house all by myself all the time.”

“That’s a depressing way to look at it,” Kili said. “No hobbitlings around Bag End.”

Bilbo sighed, deciding not to correct him.

 

 

 

There were songs played after the supper, once the table was cleared of the dishes and everybody was too stuffed to eat anymore. The music was an assortment of tavern dwarf songs, of nursery songs even, and anything that was jovial to the ears really. It lifted Bilbo’s mood somewhat, liking the rhymes and melody. He wasn’t exactly a musical hobbit, but there was a livelier aspect in dwarven music than those of elven ones. He preferred the former for that.

Once the instruments died down, Balin’s voice could be heard by those present. “Well, King Thorin, we wish you the happiest evening of your life tomorrow. Before then, rest assured that we will take care of the preparation. You need not worry to other matters too, and I advise a no-paperwork day for you.” The royal adviser sent a wink. “Those things can be arranged for the mean time.”

“I have sent in advanced the patrol to oversee the traveling of elves from Greenwood to Erebor. The elves are expected to arrive by dawn,” Dwalin informed the king. “This morning, some were sent to Dale as well, for the men going here, even the short distance. We could never be outdoing security, as that is the most and foremost.”

King Thorin gratefully nodded Dwalin’s way. “You are right. Thank you, Dwalin, Balin.”

He addressed the remaining dwarves. “I am glad to share a pleasant evening with you all. For all that we had faced together, and earned for ourselves, I can only say that we wouldn’t be here if not because of those. There are more to witness, and experience. I hope to be by your side and you with me as we continue our lives here in our home. Preferably at peace. But should disaster arrive—something I dare not to happen again, but not improbable—I’d rather have you all fight with me, those who answer when called upon.” King Thorin’s eyes regarded each faces. “I will be giving my half to another who is my equal, but never think that King Thorin and Thorin Oakenshield will halve his duty to you and to his people. A piece of me will be parted to my husband but my whole belongs to you first—as your king and as your friend most.”

The proud voice of the king rang at the dining hall, the attention of those present solely to the dwarf at the head of the table. Balin was the first to clap at the wondrous speech, followed by everybody.

“But,” Thorin began, halting the applause. “I must say that I am not yet prepared for my own wedding.” He paused, faltering a little. “I have not decided yet as for the wedding band I am to give.”

This was followed by series of gasps among the company. Balin had his jaw slacked. “That couldn’t be, Your Highness! That is the most important— _second_ most important, next to the vow itself.” There was a reprimanding intonation. “I thought you said you have it?”

“Aye, I thought I finally did,” Thorin admitted sheepishly. It was comical, in Bilbo’s point of view, to see the king scolded like a child by Balin. “But I am confused still as to what metal to work on.”

“A metal?” Balin seemed aghast. “You couldn’t… Oh, Thorin.” He must have forgotten to bother with the title. “It will have to be ready immediately. It is not easy to smith a ring hours _before_ the wedding. Would you have the Elvenking’s finger burned at the heat of the ring?”

Thorin shook his head vehemently.

“And having none is not an option either,” the advisor reminded.

“As I said, it is the material that I can’t decide as to what,” the king tried again. “Gold signifies him, silver defines him, and platinum fits him too. How can I bind those together that reminds me of him the most?”

That earned a silence from Balin.

“Does it have to be something that best describe him?” Bilbo asked from the sidelines. It was supposed to be a question for himself, but he had uttered it aloud, enough for them to hear. “Ah, sorry, I mean.” He shifted in his seat, ignoring their curious glances. “It will be the Elvenking who will wear it, right? Why not be it something that best remind him of its giver?” He shrugged. “That way, he’d have a piece of you with him wherever or whenever,” he added, as if an afterthought.

There were murmurs of approval. Bilbo did not risk look up to Thorin. But when he finally did, he found a thoughtful look gracing the king’s face.

“It’s an excellent idea,” Thorin admitted to him, to which the hobbit ducked his head shyly. “I know what I must do now. I thank you for the thought, Master Baggins.” And with that, Thorin excused himself from the hall, leaving the dwarves and Bilbo to themselves.

“It is a fine suggestion indeed, lad,” Balin said. “He rarely considers other’s opinions readily, and I must say it is a first to have him rushing out like that.” He lifted a mug of ale, offering a toast. “To King Thorin and King Thranduil. And, of course, to the ring.” Chuckles could be heard.

Bilbo toasted with his own drink. He closed his eyes slowly and berated himself in the process.

_Will you look at that? I really do well when it comes to tormenting myself!_

* * *

He wasn’t given the chance to appreciate the night sky of Erebor previously, but now that he could, he was mesmerized. He was able to smoke his pipe at the balcony alone, enjoying the silence aside from the occasional howling of the wind. It must have been for that purpose that he brought some Old Toby with him. No dwarven pipe weed could compare to Shire’s finest.

He made random smoke rings, making the next one he made enter the previous that hadn’t yet dissipated. There were odd shaped smokes he could muster, and practice the one that resembled a ship. He was trying small land animals next, and his best representation of white pigeons. It wasn’t long though when his ears twitched at the careful footsteps behind him.   

“I didn’t know you are still awake,” Kili said, sitting beside Bilbo when he edged to give space.

“A good time for some pipe,” Bilbo said. “Have you brought yours?”

The dwarf grinned and showed his. The hobbit promptly shared some of his Old Toby. Kili savored the taste it left on his tongue. “Still superb.”

Bilbo tilted his head in agreement. “So why are you still up? And without Fili, even.” He believed he never encountered Kili alone like this—Fili would be nearby if ever. Except for that situation in the previous place we went.

The brunet snorted. “His snoring is what I couldn’t stand.”

“You share a room?”

“I’m kidding, of course. Our rooms are next to each other though, and it wasn’t as if I haven’t experienced being kept late at night with his snoring.”

Given that the castle’s walls were made of solid stone, Fili’s snores must be something. And to think Kili was what he expected to be a loud sleeper. Wonders never cease with these dwarves.

“I’ve been pondering on something,” Kili said finally. He was urged to continue. “I was thinking how lucky uncle is. With him being betrothed to his elf,” he muttered lowly, his gaze with a semblance of sorrow. “And here I am, feeling envious for not having mine with me.”

Bilbo’s breath was caught in his throat. “What do you mean?” With the current relationship of dwarves and elves, Kili and Tauriel should be… _Oh, no. What now?_

“Of course, you don’t know,” Kili said softly. “There was a captain of the guards of King Thranduil. She had a red hair that shone under the sun, and glows at the rays of starlight she was so fond of. A warrior, she was. I admired her.” He smiled sadly. “Her name was Tauriel.”

 _Was. Kili is referring to her in past tense,_ Bilbo realized. And he understood clearly what that meant. “I am sorry, for your loss.”

“I had come into terms of it, or so I what I want to believe.” The dwarf prince shook his head. “I had known her only briefly, you know? The short time we stayed at Greenwood during our journey. I was attracted to her spirit, of her grace and sure footing.” Kili smiled wryly. “She followed us to the Ravenhill, and there fought with me against Bolg. We were both heavily injured, and me being of the gravest condition.” His eyes went downcast. “I do not deserve the life she had given up for me, sacrificing the last of her strength to have me survive.” He exhaled sharply.

“Don’t say that,” Bilbo said, swallowing thickly. “She would not like to hear that from you.”

“Aye, you’re right.” Kili turned to him, but not looking. “That’s why I never showed my grief so openly. I didn’t turn away from my friends’ and family’s comfort. I distracted myself just so the heartache will not eat me. I live, because that’s what she would like for me to. And to show that I do not wish to waste her efforts in saving me.”

Bilbo offered a shoulder to lean on. “That’s probably what she prefers best.”

“I feel selfish, Bilbo, whenever I think that I could never be as happy and complete again. I miss her, terribly. And times like this is when I rue being of the same maker, where I know that in my afterlife, there would be no Tauriel for me to see.”

Hearing the choked sobs of Kili, Bilbo couldn’t help but think that there would always be some things he couldn’t avoid, no matter how situation might have changed. He had hoped for the happiness of those he who were important, and most of them have it, but not without an exchange. _Such as this._ He took a deep breath. The pipe was set aside, long forgotten.

The world could never be perfect in spite of everything.

* * *

Bilbo checked himself in front of the mirror. He liked the contrast of the white dress shirt with the pale gold waistcoat he was given earlier, as he brought no change of attire appropriate for a wedding. It was finely tailored that matched his measurements well—no tight area around the belly or at the chest. The fabric was not scratchy on his skin and no stiff collars even if freshly made.  The buttons resembled the brass buttons he lost at the goblin cave before, but were instead made of gold. The green velvet breeches had fitted him in the right way as well, the colors complimenting his upper clothes.

He was ready to go, but not without securing the pouch in which his gift was contained. It was small, actually, no bigger than the one which had the spices. It was a humble gift, but he could think of no other to give to two kings. He knew they could get anything with their wealth. Why not go for a present with sentimental value? And at least it would not be intended to be hid away to gather dusts. Although he hoped Greenwood had not gotten one yet.

Elves of Greenwood had arrived earlier as Bilbo had caught sight of them at the balcony. King Thranduil was received by King Thorin and Balin, and the princes. He noted the selected party the Elvenking had taken with him, but not far were the non-warriors who carried instruments instead of bows and swords. There were few words exchanged between the kings, but Bilbo was sure it was merely for formalities sake. He noted how Thorin’s shoulders sagged down in relief at seeing his beloved safe. The hobbit had to turn his eyes away from the scene.

When looked back down, King Thranduil was being escorted inside by the castle’s attendants and a few of his guards. Bilbo wondered where the elf prince might be (he had seen him briefly before, if he was not mistaken), seeing as Legolas ( _that’s his name, isn’t it?_ ) was not present in the Elvenking’s company. If his captain was still around, Bilbo was sure he would find her also not far from the king. Unfortunately, it would never be the case. 

Lady Dís arrived with Lord Dain II Ironfoot of Iron Hills. The lady was as striking as he had read from his own description of her. She did has a beard and hair as dark as Thorin’s. Bilbo could see most of Kili’s features in her, and he guessed Fili was more of their father’s. Lady Dís received an embrace from his brother, and was welcomed with fond kisses on the cheek by her own sons. The brothers escorted her in themselves, leaving Lord Dain with King Thorin.

A few more guests had come, mostly of dwarves of different kinds, aside from those Lord Dain had brought with him. There were elves also, and Bilbo wondered if the elves of Rivendell and Lord Elrond himself would arrive. The men of Dale had turned up by sunset; with them were King Bard of Dale and his children, although only one of the three was left to be considered a child—two were already young adults of their own.          

The castle was filled with lights at the first touch of evening, bathing the place in a soft golden glow. The hall was set up elegantly, akin to the style of elves more than to the common theme of dwarves. Although the heavy drapes used were accentuated with studded gems that glittered with the minor decorations such as the candlesticks that were made in bronze. Tables and chairs were proportionately made to accommodate both the dwarves’ and elves and men’s stature. The centerpieces were wrought in twisted, thin branches, which consisted of ripe fruits and freshly picked flowers, their scent mixing nicely. Bilbo would have to commend the arrangement of the dwarves. For a race known with rough hands, they knew how to please the senses with their creation outside of their own craft.   

The event began with the light fluttering of harp strings, weaving a pattern of melody in which dwarven chords mingled with, producing a wonderful fusion of elven and dwarven rhythm. The guests went on their respective seats. Kili and Fili stood with their mother nearest to were King Thorin was waiting by the altar. Not far from them was Lord Dain, being a cousin of Thorin, and Balin. At the other side were three of the Greenwood elves Bilbo recalled seeing earlier with the Elvenking, presumably of nothing short than advisors, and King Bard in his raiment of velvet robes and platinum diadem. Bilbo was told that King Bard of Dale was the one chosen to preside at the wedding of the two kings, as there was no position higher than those, but an equal of ranking instead.

King Bard began walking to the highest of steps, stopping at the center when the musicians stroke a different set of notes and a slow tone filled the air, hushing the noises. At the far end of the aisle came a tall elf in flowing attire of white silver; his hair loosened straight without the usual crown the Elvenking wore, but replaced with wreath of flowers and red leaves. It didn’t make him look any less of a king though. Plenty of those present had realized that the stories of elves’ fairness lived up to their expectation—if not more, especially when seen by one’s own eyes.

King Bard gave the mandatory introduction once he had King Thorin and King Thranduil together in front of him. He asked for a hand of each to be given. A white strip of fabric was laid on top of their hands, without being bounded by a knot.

“May this signify the purest of binding and of loyalty that could never be stained,” he said. “And in here, witnessed by the Valar, is the joining of King Thorin of Erebor and King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great.”

Thorin took it as his signal. “I, Thorin Oakenshield, dedicate my heart as your shelter, and my arms your home. You have helped me triumphed over challenges presented, and made me become who I am today. I pledge to always admire your strength, and your kind, determined heart.” He suddenly grinned charmingly at Thranduil. “I promise to lessen the curse words whenever you’re around.” That earned him a slight raise of eyebrow from the Elvenking, the corners of his mouth twitching to a smile. “I vow to make you laugh out aloud, although I am not much of a jester myself.” Balin chuckled at this. “I promise not to call your elk a moose again.” It made Thranduil smile fully. “And I will definitely never call your eyebrows funny anymore. Just so you know it’s your best feature to me.” It wasn’t only Balin who was laughing now. Thranduil rolled his eyes, but not wiping his knowing smirk.

Thorin produced a ring of tungsten. “This ring I give you what symbolizes me and my love for you the most—it endured, like me, and was born anew despite the scratches it sustained. As I am stubborn and strong as this metal, so is my commitment. As this ring has no beginning or end, so shall my devotion for you be.” He began slipping the black ring to Thranduil’s finger. “As I place it on you, I give you all that I am… And all that I shall become.”     

When Thranduil had Thorin’s ring with him, he began his own vows. “I, Thranduil Oropherion, vow to trust and value your opinion, and stand by your actions. I pledge to treat you as my best friend and equal. I promise that through our union, we can accomplish more than when we are on our own.” His smirk had returned. “I vow to try not to cringe at your crude accent when using Elvish words.” Thorin huffed at this. “I vow to understand your place whenever you curse. And I vow not to complain at how scratchy your beard is. If you must know, they are the most endearing part of you.” Thorin had given him a triumphant smirk. “Lastly, I vow to laugh, for real, at your every attempt at jest, no matter how stupid or poorly told.” That wiped the dwarf’s smug smirk. “For I love you that much,” Thranduil added, softening Thorin’s expression into a fond smile.

“With this ring, I give you all that I am, all that I have become, and will be.” The Elvenking gave a ring of titanium adorned with emerald, perfectly mimicking the hue of leaves. “May this symbolize my timeless devotion, and the ceaseless passion and adoration I hold for you.”

There were happy sighs from men and the dwarves at the exchange of vows. The elves looked as reserve as they appear but were glad for the union that had their usually stoic Elvenking grinning—Bilbo thought that I must have been a sight for them, and for him too, honestly. He briefly saw King Thranduil before, and battle and in his tent when he handed to him and Bard the Bowman the Arkenstone. He noted a stern leader, a cunning and ruthless warrior, but was not reckless when it comes to sending his people to battle. Bilbo had never seen him smile, not even to his own son. And the Elvenking didn’t seem as welcoming as Lord Elrond himself.

 _Ah, Thorin of this world is not the only one in contrast with the original,_ Bilbo thought idly.

The ceremony proceeded to the braiding of each one’s hair. A dwarven tradition, as he was informed before. It would be forever worn by the two of them, bound by a bead of their making. Cheerful applause filled the air, in which Bilbo had lost himself into.     

Lastly, was the sharing of the kiss between the newly wedded—where everybody held their breath in anticipation as the Elvenking bent and leaned to the King Under the Mountain. It was short, but full of spark, and there was the unmistakable expression of satisfaction and completeness in Thorin’s face. And as for King Thranduil, he glowed like a star walking among those in the land. It was obvious that the feeling was mutual.

_And there Thorin goes. He seems much farther away now than ever._

When the ring he was wearing glinted, Bilbo refused to acknowledge something that was crumbling within him.

* * *

The festivity continued behind Bilbo’s back.

He had secluded himself for a moment, until it turned to several minutes, and then to few more hours. Nobody seemed to have been looking for him—and the balcony provided a spot peaceful enough. He found himself there again, without his pipe this time which he deeply regretted. He happened to have quite a lot of stargazing in Erebor these days that it could last him for a while.

He leaned at the railing, where wind blew his face and ruffled his curls. There was a flutter of fabrics when somebody neared beside him. Bilbo had to double take and blink numerous times before he believed he was seeing who he think it was.

“You are not joining the celebration.” It was the Elvenking, and Bilbo had to look up to him when he spoke. The hobbit felt incredibly small beside the tall creature, and it was not only in terms of stature.

“I’ve had quite a bit of ale, I suppose. And somebody has to be sober enough to take them to their rooms properly,” Bilbo answered, his neck craned, and it hurt a little. But he didn’t want to be rude to the Elvenking.

“A responsible one you are.” After Thranduil observed, he gestured mildly to the seat in which Bilbo gratefully took.

Bilbo shrugged. “And why are you…” _not with Thorin._ “Not with your guests?”

“I am with you. And you are one of my guests.” Bilbo was silent after that. “Thorin noted that you were not with the company. He has been looking for you.”

“Has he?” he said before he could stop himself. The Elvenking lifted a slight eyebrow. “I mean, he doesn’t have to.” Bilbo’s eyes sparked in remembrance. “Ah, by the way.” There was a pouch he removed from his pocket, giving it to Thranduil. “It might not be as grand as the gifts you two received, but I hope you both like it.”

Thranduil opened it, and found seeds inside. “A _mallos_ seed,” he said, almost incredulous. “Erebor’s soil is enough for this plant, and Greenwood has been missing these flowers lately.” He gave a grateful smile to the hobbit. “Legolas would like it. He used to sing a lot of their golden bells.” Sadness quietly spilled in those blue orbs.

Bilbo awkwardly bowed in return. “Speaking of which, is your son not here? I haven’t seen the prince around.”

It seemed to take every bit of Thranduil’s strength to answer. “There has been no prince of Greenwood for a thousand of years,” Thranduil replied quietly. “Thorin might have told you of Legolas. But he must have forgotten to say that my son is no longer with us. He perished with his mother, my wife.”

 _What?_ “I am sorry for your loss,” Bilbo managed to say as he swallowed the lump of his throat, turning away at Thranduil’s masking of his anguish. _Another life. And it wasn’t only Tauriel’s._ He internally winced at the amount of changes that were made.

“I thought I would fade then, losing two of my precious family. But I could never give in to grief, as I am still the king of Greenwood, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t.” He exhaled. “What I had left of them were merely the gems of my late wife and the circlet of my son. Those were what I brought here in Erebor, to be restored as they were and to be placed to our home in memory of them. But the King Under the Mountain then was not as fair as I took him to be. He was already as mad for more gold at that time, and withheld me of my treasures. I would have left with hatred for them, if not for the king’s grandson who stood up for me, who knew the importance of those items. Whom I met briefly before being received by the king. It was Thorin, and I never forget when one showed their kindness to me.”

Bilbo had heard the other side yesterday from Thorin, who believed what had brought him and Thranduil together was the coming of Smaug. But no, because of Thorin’s single act, he was already seen differently by the Elvenking. Incredible how such small action could change the course of fate.

“When the dragon came, Thorin led those that had survived. He called for aid, but I could not risk my own people to face the wrath of the dragon. Instead I gave him and the remaining dwarves temporary homes and the supplies they needed. Those were the only thing I could give, and although it seemed inadequate, Thorin had thanked me a lot for it and considered it a debt he would repay someday. It was never a debt.” Thranduil smiled. “He was a born leader, and very unlike those before him. He was already a king to me before, even without Erebor.” Bilbo listened interestedly to keep the Elvenking talking. “And then one day, he decided to reclaim this place. I did not want him to, but who am I to go against his wishes? But it was fear for him that I felt. Should he perish in the journey, I would not be able to take it. My heart would die with him, and so I would have faded,” he admitted. “And you did no small part in ensuring his safety, Master Baggins.”

“I… yes. Somebody have to ensure his safety. You know he’s reckless.”

“You are right. Thorin is lucky to have someone like you who love him dearly.”

“Everyone in the company does, else they wouldn’t journey with him,” Bilbo pointed out. “No matter how dangerous.”

Thranduil cocked his head. “But I do not mean that kind of love.” He turned his attention to Bilbo fully. “You _love_ him.”

Panic seized the hobbit with the statement. “I-I don’t know what you say.”

“You know very well what I meant.”

He closed his eyes, and bit his lip. Of course, somebody was bound to notice. Although he hoped it would not be Thranduil. So much for that. “Am I that obvious?”   

“No. It’s something I perceived. Since long before,” the Elvenking whispered. “Why did you not tell him?”

“What for?” Bilbo asked wryly. “I know he will never consider me as such. And who am I to him other than a dear friend? It is enough for me to be considered one.” He added, “And I am glad for him to be finally happy. He deserve as much.” He meant it sincerely this time.

The night breeze blew, colder than earlier, but not frigid enough to chill.

“You are selfless,” Thranduil said. “No wonder he admired you so much… And I as well.”

Bilbo wasn’t really sure if he should admire his version of self in this world. Especially during the battle where all he did was hurt himself, not only physically, at every turn.

* * *

When the Elvenking had gotten back to Thorin, Bilbo decided to follow back at the hall. Despite the several hours of doing nothing but drink to oblivion, or dance until their legs gave out, there were still plenty of dwarves on their feet, and were having their own drinking contests. Bilbo wouldn’t be surprised if he found out that blood no longer ran in their system but ale.

Shaking his head at the pile of dwarves already down and snoring in one corner, he seated himself in a chair, getting a pear to eat and a mug of drink alone.

Or he thought he was alone, until he turned and found Gimli there.

“Hello,” he greeted. He wondered if this Gimli knew who he was. Gimli was somewhat lost in thought and didn’t seem to hear Bilbo. He tried again, “Hello, Gimli.”

“Master Baggins.” Gimli nodded to him. “Apologies, I wasn’t aware of your presence.”

Bilbo waved off the apology. “You are not with them,” he commented, gaze going to the part of the hall where Gimli’s father and uncle were being loud on their own, hijacking a barrel of ale for themselves. He noticed the men and elves no longer around. They were not keen in keeping up with the others, he supposed.

Gimli was embarrassed when he followed Bilbo’s line of sight. “Aye, I am not in the mood today.”

 _Same here._ “I see. Well, at least, we both are of decent condition enough to take care of those…incapable.”

Gimli nodded. “I hope the king wouldn’t take it as his inadequacy if not all of his guests are enjoying.”

“Probably not. He wouldn’t know about us anyway.” Except that maybe Thorin would about him, because of the Elvenking. “What gives though? I thought dwarves like this sort of thing? Hobbits too, actually, but the alcohol is not as overflowing as this. Except the food.”

“You’ll laugh if I tell you,” Gimli said weakly. Bilbo frowned. “Alright, alright. I know you will not.” The dwarf sighed. “It’s something regards to my One.”

“Oh.” The hobbit considered the thought. “You’ve met yours?”

Gimli winced. “It is a sensitive thing to us, marriage. Seeing our king wedded like that, you’d think for yourself of finding your One too. But that kind of thing has to happen naturally. And they say that not all dwarves have one for their own. Those who doesn’t devote themselves to their crafts.”

“You don’t think you have one?” Bilbo supplied.

“Nay.” Gimli shook his head. “In the contrary, I think I do. But I feel like I would not be able to meet them.”

“There are cases like that?”

“Aye. If for example, your One is not born of this world yet. And there are some who have met them but are unable to be together due to circumstances, like their One being married to another, or died.” _Like Kili’s case._ “Or there’s also the possibility of your One already dead before you could even meet them.” Gimli looked down. “Which I believe to be my case.”

It seemed that Bilbo wasn’t alone in feeling heartache tonight. “Maybe not all of us are meant for another after all, or we’re not meant for those we like to be with,” Bilbo whispered. “And we’ll have to make do with what we have.”

“Aye, and so it will be a sad and lonely life for us.”

 

 

 

He promised himself that he would be sober at the end of the celebration, but Bilbo found himself to be of wobbly feet and dizzying vision. Gimli was no longer by his side, running off to somewhere, his father and uncle probably.

Looking around, the hall was messy and littered with bodies. Like some aftermath of a battle. Bilbo chuckled weakly. There were some on top of the table, and some were doing a fine masterpiece holding their instruments in reverse. The pile he passed by earlier was unmoved, if not more bodies were added.

He had lost track of the time, but he noted Thorin and Thranduil were still present—they made sure to see the end of the festivity as good hosts would. Although a moment later, they stood up, making a move to leave and go for their quarters perhaps.  

Bilbo stood, watching as Thorin clasped his hand with Elvenking’s. Thorin had taken one last glance around the hall, and when he saw Bilbo, he smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

It must be the ale, but Bilbo wanted to stop the time then and there. He wanted Thorin not to turn away because he knew he would never see that face again. Thorin turned away when Thranduil started leading him to their place.    

_Look at me._

Bilbo could hear Thorin’s cheerful laugh from the other side.

_Look at me, Thorin._

But he never did. Bilbo watched them go as Thorin went out of his line of vision.

_You always go somewhere I cannot follow._

Admitting defeat, Bilbo removed the ring and was promptly returned to his room at Bag End.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mallos is a type of plant that only appeared once in Lord of The Rings when Legolas sang of it. 
> 
> "And the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin  
> In the green fields of Lebennin."
> 
> Again, thank you for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on Bilbo's diary: 
> 
> Afteryule = January  
> Solmath = February  
> Rethe = March  
> Astron = April  
> Thrimidge = May
> 
> Midyear's Day (aka. Overlithe) - is in Forelithe in Shire Calendar (June) 
> 
> Bilbo's first entry was after the Battle of the Five Armies  
> And, you might point out that Ori is not the youngest of the company. In movies, he isn't. In the books, he is. 
> 
> Annatar, Lord of Gifts is another name of Sauron. His name when he commissioned the making of the rings.
> 
> There are more relationship and character tags to be added in the next chapters. Thank you for reading! :)


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